My Old Ways
by Rudie Fenton
Summary: Lucinda Worthington, your existence is an abomination. Your sole purpose is to cause destruction. Heaven and Earth — angels and humans — have reason to fear you. Because of this, you must be killed. The sooner you're out of the way, Lucinda, the better off everyone will be. It will be quick, hopefully. Just. . . .try not to take it so personally.
1. Chapter One: My Old Ways

_But I don't want to ever go back_  
 _To my old ways_  
 _Cheatin' and creepin' around_  
 _I don't ever want to go back_  
 _To the old days_  
 _Leaving the dead underground_  
 _But I don't ever want to go_  
 _No, I don't ever want to go back_  
 _To my old ways again_

-My Old Ways; **by Dr. Dog**

* * *

 _June 9th, 1987_

* * *

It was so close to being summer. The one time a year where Macey felt at peace. She'd enjoy feeling the sun on her skin and the warmth in the air. She'd plan trips with friends and family, from something as simple as going to the beach to something exciting like traveling abroad. In all honesty, summertime was the _one_ time out of the year Macey could enjoy herself. She felt as if the pressures of every day life _lifted_ from her shoulders the second the sun came out. She'd feel like she could do absolutely _any_ thing. And that feeling only seemed to intensify when she encountered _him_. He was very charismatic, easily winning over Macey's affections without so much as lifting a finger. Not only did he have charm on his side, but he seemed to find a way to make anything _fun_. It was almost like he didn't have to try. Macey absolutely loved that! Over the course of a couple weeks, the two of them would meet up daily, talking and laughing, having as much fun as possible before the end of summer. As more time went on, however, Macey started to notice how the way they interacted started changing. He was mellowing out some, showing a more. . . . _softer_ side. She was finding herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't been before.

They were, unsurprisingly, becoming attracted to each other.

He managed to take her on two dates before they slept together. They both acknowledged it was a bit quick to jump in like that, but they also acknowledged how it felt kinda. . . . _right_. After that moment, they officially started a little romance. The two lived in their own little world when they were together, having fun and being there for each other. That was something Macey felt she hadn't had before. Her parents, David and Ines, were Jewish immigrants from Poland and Syria respectively. The older couple worked nonstop in order to provide for their family, which meant their daughter was usually left in the care of neighbors. Once she got older, she learned to take care of herself. As for her boyfriend, he claimed to have been on his own for as long as he could remember. His father wasn't in the picture, he claimed, and he wasn't close to any of his siblings. As for any maternal figure, he'd never say anything.

"Seems like we've both got a little bit of family issues," Macey had said.

"Your parents _work_ for you," he'd reply, "my father _abandoned_ us."

After that, the subject was never brought up again. The two of them chose to focus on each other, to bring happiness and contentment in their companionship. And as it got more serious, there were more things Macey started to notice. She wasn't allowed to meet his family — they wouldn't approve of her. The two of them were not allowed to have children — again, his family wouldn't approve. They weren't allowed to get married — why? Because of his family's disapproval. It seemed as though, despite not having any involvement in their lives, he was still heavily influenced by them. Macey couldn't understand _why_ there had to be such strict rules about their relationship. There were none in the beginning. He had no problems goofing off with her initially. Everything was fun and amazing and almost like a _dream_.

"You're still letting your family dictate what you can do," Macey had exclaimed. "Why does it matter if we start a family? Or if we get married? It's not gonna be the end of the world."

"It's complicated," he'd practically shout. "There's no way I'd be able to explain it in a way that makes sense. OK? I don't know how to tell you except that it won't end well."

That put a strain on their relationship. Macey refused to see him again after that. She was angry that he'd allow his family's needs to come before her. She really thought he cared about her, that they'd manage to be together. That was when the doubt started to come in. Two weeks would go by with Macey doubting herself and their relationship. Two whole weeks before either of them saw each other again. He apologized for his outburst, she forcefully smiled and accepted. They stayed together up until September, when Macey started to feel a little queasy. She thought it was her getting sick. A lot of her friends had fallen ill to a bug that was going around, and the young woman assumed she was catching it. But Macey quickly noticed how different _her_ symptoms were to _theirs_. From early morning to early afternoon, she'd be extremely sick. Some days she'd vomit, other days she wouldn't. She was tired all the time and even some of her favorite foods made her ill. Not only that, but she noticed an increase in her breast size, accompanied by some sensitivity.

For a fleeting moment, Macey thought she was imagining it all. She was tiny, she'd always had an average body size for her height, and all her curves were ordinary in size. She wasn't anything special, so she was hoping the increasing size and sensitivity in her breasts was her mind playing tricks on her. Macey prayed that the vomiting and unbearable queasiness was maybe a stomach bug. But she knew, deep down, what it could mean. And it terrified her. It had always been a plan of hers to have a family, but she wanted marriage to come first. Her boyfriend was very much against them being wedded. Not only that, but children were in no way part of their future. He didn't want to risk "bringing his family's wrath upon her", as he had said. But Macey knew she'd have to take a test just to be sure. If she were really pregnant, then she'd be in a load of trouble. In their intimate moments, they worked on being careful, but condoms and birth control wasn't always 100%. The chances of falling pregnant were still there.

Needless to say, unfortunately, Macey nearly had a heart attack once her fear was confirmed. She was expecting. She'd bought three different pregnancy tests, hoping they'd come back negative. Seeing those little positive signs, knowing that there was a _life_ growing in Macey's stomach, made her feel as if her entire world was falling apart. She felt nauseous, lightheaded, breathless — all her emotions were swirling inside her like a tornado. She wanted the baby, but she knew at the same time he didn't. A baby would cause conflicts between them and his family. All this drama over a baby. . . .was it really worth it? Did Macey want to deal with the "wrath" of her boyfriend's family? _God_ no. Did she want to deal with _his_ reaction over the news? Well, no. She loved her boyfriend, but she also knew she wanted children one day. She felt conflicted. Macey thought about leaving him to raise the baby. At least that way he wouldn't be dealing with so much unnecessary problems. But it was hard for Macey to even _think_ about leaving him. There was also the thought of leaving for the duration of the pregnancy and putting the baby up for adoption. But the one thought that disturbed Macey the most was the thought of miscarriage. She knew that losing the first pregnancy was fairly common; it happened to her mother before she'd been born. So, if she suffered a miscarriage, would it be better? Would it ease the soon-to-be drama? That made her squirm uncomfortably.

Thankfully, in a way, all of that fear and uncertainty, all of those thoughts and worries, happened practically nine months ago. Now, in Macey's current situation, she was filled with so much fear and anxiety it was overwhelming. She was leaning against a wall, clutching her swollen stomach as pain coursed throughout her body. Wave after wave, it seemed to go on forever. Over the course of Macey's pregnancy, she'd experienced little pains here and there, bouts of discomfort and things that didn't seem _natural_. Her unborn child seemed to be more. . . . _aware_. It was almost like Macey's child knew where it was at, what was going on in the outside world — things that made the mother-to-be a little unsettled. While this was her first child, Macey knew enough to understand no unborn child behaved like that. In fact, no _pregnancy_ should've felt like the one the soon-to-be mother was going through. The pain and discomfort, sure it could be expected in a normal pregnancy, but that was something Macey experienced _throughout_. It only got more intense as the months ticked by. By the time she got to the ninth month, she wasn't sure if the pains were contractions or the usual ones that just so happened to occur. Maybe it was both. Maybe Macey was finally going into labor. The one thing she was a little happy for was choosing to leave her boyfriend the day she found out. She didn't have the courage to give him a valid explanation, only that it was over. He'd been heartbroken, naturally, but Macey did her best to overlook that. She believed leaving him was in their best interest.

Without warning, a sudden wetness gushed between Macey's legs. Her eyes widened as a powerful wave of pain washed over her body. It was unbearable, so intense it almost made her black out.

"Margo," she rasps, gripping her stomach tightly. "Margo!"

In an instant, a woman no older than her early thirties comes rushing in. Her black hair was tugged back and her eyes were wide. "It's happening?" she asks. Macey gave a single nod. Swallowing thickly, Margo nodded in return. "OK then."

 **O.O.O.O**

She was pregnant, that was why she left. Macey didn't want to let him know, for the sake of keeping things decent between him and his family. For keeping things decent between him and her. The only thing that gorgeous human didn't know was that Gabriel hadn't seen his family in centuries. That he was, in fact, an Archangel. With how things were going in Heaven, knowing God had abandoned his children and how Lucifer and Michael would eventually destroy the world — it was too much for the Archangel to bear. He'd left his home to live amongst the humans. He obtained the title "The Trickster" over the time he'd been on Earth. Gabriel also managed to land himself the name of "Loki", as well. He was worshipped as both an angel and a demigod. It was an impressive feat, honestly, but it still left the Archangel feeling a twinge of emptiness inside. Despite all he'd done for himself on Earth, he still couldn't stop himself from worrying about his family. Macey and his child, God and the angels. He was torn between them. Gabriel knew his ex-lover wouldn't survive childbirth. A human woman birthing a Nephilim was usually fatal. And with him being so powerful, that meant Macey stood no chance. She'd die no matter what. It broke Gabriel's heart. Macey was a good woman, she deserved so much more.

Gabriel had to give her credit, though, she did have some balls in trying to proceed with the pregnancy. Especially on her own. No, he knew she wasn't stupid enough to try and give birth by herself. There had to be _some_ one with her. Gabriel knew she liked to play it safe. Macey liked to have a back-up plan, and a back-up for the back-up. That was how she was. With a humorless chuckle, the Archangel ran a hand through his hair, an almost heartbroken look in his eyes. _Very_ few beings on Earth were ever allowed to get close to him. Of course the ones he deemed worthy never really knew his origins. Times were changing, and peoples' beliefs in higher powers were changing, as well. Fewer and fewer people were relying on religion anymore, and Gabriel was content with that. At least, he tried to be. There were times he had his moments, feeling a little weak. Maybe too weak for comfort. Was that the result of his self-imposed protection program? To live a life of continual loneliness and weakness? He tried to fill it with fun and sweets, but it wasn't enough sometimes. All he could really hope for was a better tomorrow. Humans may be a bit primitive, relying heavily on violence and manipulation to get their needs, but in a way, they were similar to angels. Angels manipulated their brethren to get a personal gain. On occasion, violence would be used, but only if absolutely necessary. Just another reason why Gabriel chose to leave. He couldn't handle how his siblings were treating each other.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Gabriel sighed. He knew his child would be born soon, he could feel it. While Macey did her best to cover her tracks, the child's grace was strong. But the real question was whether or not any of Gabriel's siblings had come into contact with her yet. Had they at least _tried_? That'd be terrible. Gabriel wouldn't know how to live with himself. He knew that if he chose to stick around through Macey's pregnancy, then they'd be in bigger trouble. He wanted to protect them, to give them a life worth living, but that wouldn't happen if he stuck around. A pang of hurt washed over him. He wouldn't be there for his child, he wouldn't be there in Macey's final moments, and who knows whether he'd see his child grow up or not. Gabriel wanted nothing more than to live with his human lover in safety, to give her what she wanted and to have a great time. They'd been so happy before. . . .

His head whipped up for a moment. He'd felt a surge of energy, as if there was some kind of. . . .not an explosion, but maybe something similar. It was powerful and it made Gabriel's heart beat fast in his chest. That surge could only mean one thing.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Hey-yo. Sorry for the wait on the chapter, I hope you like it! It's a bit of a long one, and I'm hoping I didn't go overboard anything. If you think there're parts that need improvement, leave a review and let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I won't be able to know how to better the story if I don't know what my weak points are.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and a love for my dog. If you've got ideas for an OC or a subplot, PM me or leave a review. I'll add it in as soon as possible.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	2. Chapter Two: Imagine

_You may say I'm a dreamer_  
 _But I'm not the only one_  
 _I hope some day you'll join us_  
 _And the world will be as one_

-Imagine; **from John Lennon**

* * *

 _June 9th, 1987 (con't.)_

* * *

Macey had read books on childbirth, on what could possibly occur. She'd heard that some first-time mothers had labors that lasted somewhere between 12 to 18 hours, maybe longer. She'd heard of other mothers who had difficulties vaginally birthing the child, so emergency c-sections were required. There were also those women who experienced births where the umbilical chord was wrapped around the infant's neck, or the child was breeched. There were some reports of women bleeding to death afterward, maybe from a hemorrhage or some other factor. In Macey's eyes, she found all of that terrifying. She wanted to get as much information on what she'd have to deal with, but all she got was more fear and anxiety. She expected childbirth to be painful, but she hoped it'd all go smoothly. Of course, she did endure some pain here and there throughout her pregnancy, and some medical sites didn't have any specifics on what it could be. At least, what _Macey's_ pain could be. There were medical reasons on countless possibilities, but none of them fit the bill for her. That had been when Margo came into the picture. The two women met while Macey was exiting a bookstore and a wave of pain hit. Margo had immediately responded, giving the pregnant woman a shoulder to lean on until the sensation passed. The two became good friends after that.

As it would turn out, Margo seemed rather knowledgeable on what Macey was going through. She was able to list off reasons why the pregnancy was so painful. Of course Margo left out a few important details, but she knew her new companion was satisfied with what she'd been told. And if Macey was satisfied, then everything would remain calm. That was how things were supposed to be, at least until the baby's birth. But Margo could still sense a bit of unease within her pregnant friend, which meant that the child would be put at risk. All kinds of precautions were done to keep mother and child safe, but the unease still remained and steadily grew into the fear and anxiety Macey _clung_ to so desperately. No matter the kind words Margo expressed, or the comfort she provided, her friend would not be calm. Not even for a minute. So that was how the pregnancy progressed, with a frightened woman and her silently frustrated friend. Margo was trying to do her best, but that just wasn't enough. So, when Macey announced that her water had broke, that was everything the pregnant woman's friend needed to hear. As the contractions started coming and going, Margo tried her best to provide as much comfort and assistance as needed. She held Macey's hands, wiped off her sweat with a damp towel. Margo checked the progression of the birth and made sure to update her friend every time she did. So, as the hours went by, and the contractions got closer together, a feeling of excitement washed over Margo. But the fear remained in Macey.

"How're you feeling?" Margo asked, holding onto her friend's hands. Another contraction had gone by. They were five minutes apart, and the baby's head was starting to show.

"Like I'm dying." Macey's voice was raspy, nearly a whisper, from all the screaming she'd done. The pain that swept through her body was excruciating. It was beyond words, beyond _comprehension_. Never in Macey's _life_ had she experienced anything like it before.

Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, Margo tried for a smile. "You'll be fine, OK?" she said gently. "You're doing great. Soon, your baby will be here."

"I just. . . .I don't know," Macey whispered, shaking her head. "This doesn't feel right. Shouldn't I be at a hospital?"

"May, I'm telling you, this is perfectly fine. We'll be OK — you'll _both_ be OK."

Another contraction swept through Macey's body, causing her to scream in pain. It felt as if her body were being ripped from the inside out.

"Do you need to push?" Margo asked. Macey only gave a single nod. "Keep your legs spread for me. At the next contraction, I want you to push. Do you understand?"

"I g-got it," Macey barked. Once the current wave of pain subsided, the laboring woman let out a ragged breath, her grip on Margo's hands loosening.

"Do you have names for the baby?"

Macey nodded.

"What are they?"

"Lucinda if it's a girl. Avery if it's a boy."

"Those are lovely names."

Macey nodded as she let out a sigh. Sweat was forming on her forehead and above her brow. Some of her red hair was clinging to her skin as a result. "Do you think I'll be a good mother?" she whispered.

Margo gave a somewhat forced smile and nodded. "I think so," she responded.

"I-I just wish he could've been here for this." Tears came into Marcey's eyes. "I wish he would've been with this, but. . . ."

"Just calm down, OK?"*

With a nod, Macey let out a shaky breath. Her body was exhausted from the labor; her mind felt like it was running on overdrive; she felt emotionally numb. Sniffling, Macey let out a wet laugh. The tears fell down her face.

"What?" Margo asked, a hint of a smile on her face.

"This isn't what I pictured childbirth to be like," she said. "Not at all."

"How'd you picture it then?"

"I knew it'd be painful, just not _this_ bad. I. . . .I imagined it'd be quick and easy, no complications. The baby would be healthy, _I'd_ be healthy. I'd have a husband, and. . . ." Whatever Macey was going to say next was cut off by a contraction. Remembering Margo's orders, the laboring woman started pushing. When her friend started urging her on, it only motivated the poor woman to get it over with sooner. She couldn't take one more second of the pain she was going through. So, as she squeezed Margo's hand, and felt overwhelming pain and pressure building in her lower abdomen, Macey felt her breath catch in her throat as a sudden warmth spread throughout her body. The feeling seemed to come from _within_ her, quickly calming the fear and anxiety she once let control her. At that very moment, as she was pushing and feeling that warmth, Macey let out a breath. She felt lighter, and before she had time to react, there was a sudden light and everything went black.

 **O.O.O.O**

When Margo noticed a look sweep across Macey's face, she became confused. Was there something going on? Was the baby OK? The last time Margo checked the baby's progression, it seemed like everything was going normally, though she wasn't the one giving birth. And when the look on Macey's face didn't change, and when the air in the room started changing, that was when things _really_ started to feel off. Before Margo even had a chance to react, there was a blinding light and an invisible force caused the young woman to fly back, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. In no time at all, she was unconscious.

 **O.O.O.O**

The moment Margo regained consciousness, her body felt heavy. It felt like someone poured sand in her eyes, while at the same time she was trying to blink back white splotches from her vision. Her joints felt a bit achy and her head was pounding with a mild headache. Letting out a pained groan, Margo slowly sat herself up. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, and that made her a little nervous. Had it been minutes? _Hours_? She didn't hear any noise, which was weird. Margo would've thought the baby would be crying, or at least making some kind of _noise_. She knew the baby would be a Nephilim, but she only assumed it'd start off _as_ a baby. Considering Macey was a human, and the angel who sired it took on a human vessel, it only seemed logical that the offspring look like an ordinary human infant.

As for Margo's knowledge on the baby being Nephilim, she grew up with the lore. Her father was a hunter, one who was obsessed with angels and demons. As a result, she became interested in them, as well, particularly Nephilim. The angel-human hybrids were considered abominations to their angelic relatives, and would often be terminated not long after birth. As for the human parent, who'd more often than not be a human woman, would die shortly after childbirth. The mortal parent never survived to see their Nephilim offspring. The grace that infused itself into their child was too strong, and when it came to giving birth, the strain was too much on the human mother's body, and they'd die shortly, if not immediately, afterward. Margo always found that part to be extremely fascinating. As it would seem, while interacting with Macey during her pregnancy, her Nephilim child had a level of influence over her body. The child's grace could sometimes be seen spreading through Macey's body, a whitish blue color that could be seen just beneath the skin. As for what the child was doing with that grace was up for debate, and the mother-to-be had no idea what was going on. Macey was in no way informed on the ordeal she found herself in, and it was almost disheartening. It was obvious the woman wanted to be a mother, but having an angel's child was just something a human body couldn't properly handle.

Letting out a huff, Margo sat up completely, wincing slightly as she pressed a hand against her forehead. The pulsing in her head dimmed a little, but it was still bothersome. Her eyes still had some sandiness, but the white splotches disappeared. Glancing around, Margo could see Macey's body leaning against the wall she'd given birth at. The woman's eyes were blank, her face expressionless. It didn't look like she was breathing, either. An obvious sign of death.

"Poor thing," Margo murmured. Pity swirled through her body. Macey had been a lovely woman, that much was certain. Looking down at the space between them, Margo's eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed. There was a baby, its eyes closed and its breathing even. There was no umbilical cord, no blood, no _mess_. The baby was laying directly in the center of Margo and Macey, sound asleep. Crawling over, Margo could see the baby was a girl, with a head decorated a small handful of red hair. The skin was a delicate white color, almost miniscule freckles decorating across her nose and cheeks. Her legs and arms were curled upward, as if in some kind of attempt for a fetal position. Margo, with some hesitation, reached out and gently touched the baby's stomach. After some whimpering, the infant's eyes opened, showing irises that were a mixture of green and brown, something she obviously inherited from her father. "Hey there," Margo whispered, a small smile on her face. "Little Lucinda. Hi."

Lucinda's face scrunched up, as if she were getting ready to cry, but something else happened instead. Her green-brown eyes changed to whitish blue, and Margo felt a surge of warmth spread across her body. It was something she'd never experienced before; it was like Lucinda was scanning her, checking to see if she were of any importance. After a minute, the warmth went away and the infant's eyes returned to normal. Lucinda's originally scrunched up face relaxed and that led to Margo relaxing. Things were definitely looking up.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **I feel like this chapter was sloppy, so I'm incredibly sorry. This was the best I could come up with, so any constructive criticism you have would be appreciated. Thanks.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and happiness over the Scooby-Doo crossover that happened. I haven't actually seen the episode yet, I'm just happy and excited about it. Scooby-Doo was one of my favorite cartoons as a kid, so. . . .yeah. I digress. Do you have an OC or a subplot you'd like written into the story? PM me or leave a review! I'll add it in as soon as possible.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	3. Chapter Three: Lowlife

_Baby, you're the highlight of my lowlife_  
 _Take a shitty day and make it alright, yeah, alright_  
 _Oh, in every circumstance_  
 _Yeah, you make the difference_  
 _Baby, you're the highlight of my lowlife, lowlife_

-Lowlife; **by Poppy**

* * *

 _October 31st, 2005 — 18 Years Later_

* * *

Otis Fitzpatrick had his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping against his forearms. His blue eyes watched, through a nearby window, as a petite redhead maneuvered her way through the junk piled in the family's backyard. The Fitzpatrick residence was an old, dilapidated home in rural Louisiana. There was plenty of land on the property, with most of it serving as a kind of scrapyard. A few old cars scattered here and there; old or used tires piled high in certain areas; pieces of old metal and junk piled in whatever land remained. When Otis and his kids moved in, he moved some of the junk around, making pathways so he and the kids could move around more easily. It was nice, in Otis' opinion. The house was secluded, far from the prying eyes of any neighbors. The Fitzpatricks were able to live as they wanted. But that seclusion would lead to a dark path, especially for Otis. After the murder of his wife, Annabelle, at the hand of a. . . . _monster_ , the patriarch of the family swore he'd dedicate his whole life to killing them all. His three children were raised in that lifestyle, though his youngest son, Isaac, was practically driven mad by it. In his teenage years, he'd accompanied his father on a hunt, which went horribly wrong. Isaac almost lost his life as a result, which ended up with him lashing out violently, claiming he was still seeing the monster who almost killed him. Not long after, Isaac left the family home. Any contact with him was rare.

Margo, the eldest of Otis' children, seemed to take it all in much better stride than her brother. She learned the tricks of the trade, what to do and what not to do. She knew which weapons were used to kill which monsters, how to exorcise a demon, and how to banish vengeful spirits. She could put up sygils to banish angels — Otis made sure she knew _exactly_ what to do.

Isla, Otis' middle child, was in no way interested in hunting. She didn't like hurting living things, it didn't matter who or _what_ they were. She left the family, as well, not long after her fifteenth birthday. As far as any of her family knew, she was living with a relative in New Hampshire. Just like Isaac, any contact Isla had with her family was rare, but it was cherished when it did happen.

So, since Margo was the only one who showed genuine interest and prowess in the field, she was Otis' protégé. As the years went on, the father-daughter duo hunted many monsters, making a name for themselves in the hunting community. Just the mention of their name would send shivers up hunters' spines. The Fitzpatricks were brutal, known for their savagery and bloodshed. They _loved_ what they did, a little _too_ much. But, by the time Margo reached her thirties, she chose to retire from hunting. Otis' obsession with the supernatural started to get carried away, with him turning to religion in a manner that could only be seen as crazed. He started throwing out Biblical verses, claiming that God had sent down angels to kill his Annabelle, that the verses were somehow connected to it, that Heaven would pay for the act they committed on his family. Otis believed wholeheartedly that all of Heaven was his enemy, that he would take them all out on his own. Margo, in a way, pitied her father, knowing that his whole relationship with the supernatural was because he couldn't cope with his wife's death. Religion seemed to make it worse. But, in its own way, Margo knew that she could manipulate her father's state of mind. She was still interested in hunting the supernatural, just not with the intensity she once had. Otis Fitzpatrick had trained his eldest daughter to be a trained liar and killer, so maybe if he had some kind of. . . . _weapon_ of some sorts, he'd be able to satisfy his unstable views on religion. And what luck did Margo have when she ran into Macey Worthington, mom-to-be of a Nephilim? Margo knew enough on Nephilim to understand their rarity, to know that they were seen as abominations due to their parentage. She also knew that the human mothers never survived childbirth.

The Nephilim, in Margo's eyes, would be useful in Otis' conquest. He wanted to kill angels, the Nephilim would _draw_ angels to it. It seemed like a good plan. That was why, after Lucinda's birth, she called her father and explained the situation. She'd helped a mother give birth to an angel's child, and that child would be able to help him in his journey to destroy the beings that killed his wife. For Margo, she had no idea what or _who_ was responsible for her mother's death; she had been very young, too young to really understand what was happening. Whether it was connected to the supernatural, or it was just a random human, she couldn't say. She was barely five at the time of her mother's murder, with Isla being two and a half, and Isaac barely a year old. Sure, it was hard on the family, but the children were left in a state of confusion on why their mother wasn't coming home. And Otis. . . .he was in no state of mind to really comprehend the situation. So, when Margo found out that Macey's baby was a Nephilim, she jumped on the possibility of bringing it to her father. It was certainly something she'd never think of doing, stealing another woman's baby, but she knew that if her father wanted to go through with his plans, then he'd need something strong enough to take on his "sworn enemies".

The day Margo brought Lucinda home, however, was a very emotional day. Otis attempted to kill the infant, claiming she was a spy sent from Heaven, a being sent to infiltrate his home and his mind. He saw that small baby as an enemy, and he wanted nothing more than to have her dead. Margo managed to talk him out of his rage, and it took time for him to see Lucinda as something valuable. Her angelic abilities were developing, showing themselves in the most interesting ways. Whenever she cried or was upset about something the electricity in the house would go haywire. Whenever she threw temper tantrums, anything that wasn't pinned down in some way would get thrown about violently. Lucinda wouldn't even have to touch them. If Otis ever got injured from a hunt, all the young child would have to do was touch his forehead. In no time at all, any injury, no matter how severe, would be healed. As the years went on, and more powers became unlocked, Margo came to understand that the young girl's powers seemed to have some connection to her emotions. So the best way to keep them under control would be to make sure Lucinda never felt a thing. Years of intense training ensured that the Nephilim was about as emotionally shut off as possible, with her even stating she "couldn't feel a thing". In Margo's mind, shutting off Lucinda's emotions meant the connections they had with her powers were severed, and, for the most part, it was successful. And while there was a sense of accomplishment in that area, Lucinda would still need training. Otis and Margo wanted to ensure all their hard work remained. But, at the same time, it was onto physical and psychological training. Isaac and Otis were good at that, so they were put in charge of it. Contacting Isaac took weeks, but he eventually agreed and came by to visit.

Those two parts were the most violent. Lucinda was exposed to brutal beat-downs by Otis, and she'd have to do everything in her power to ensure she won. Isaac put her through extreme psychological training. In some ways, the youngest Fitzpatrick wouldn't and _shouldn't_ be seen as a very good trainer, but it was because of his own instability that made him good. His training was very authentic, very horrific. It exposed Lucinda to things she never imagined before. The psychological training almost made her crack in her emotional training, that was how intense it was. Thankfully, in the eyes of everyone involved, the young Nephilim prevailed. She managed to make it through her training and forge a path to become the perfect weapon. She could easily take Otis down in fights, a man who was nearly twice her size in weight and height. Any form of psychological pain Isaac tried to force upon Lucinda was met with all the necessary responses.

It took eighteen years for Lucinda to become the perfect weapon. She practiced her abilities almost religiously. She was forced to face more torture and training from the Fitzpatricks. She _had_ to be perfect. Every attack she performed had to be accurate, every move she made had to be exact. She couldn't falter in any way, she couldn't be _weak_. Weakness led to all _kinds_ of mistakes, and Lucinda wasn't about to let her family down. She couldn't disappoint them, not after all the time and effort they'd put in for her.

"She's getting stronger." The sound of a woman's voice snapped Otis out of his thoughts. He'd been so engrossed in himself that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him. He would've chastised himself for being so reckless. Inattentiveness usually led to death in the hunting community, and while Otis was at his house, there was no telling when an enemy would attack. When he looked beside him, he saw Margo standing there. Her eyes were trained on Lucinda, seeing the little redhead move around, paying no attention them.

"She can be better."

"We've trained her for eighteen _years_ , dad," Margo responded, giving her father a look. "I'd like to think she's already really good."

"She hasn't caught the attention of any angels." Otis' face scrunched up into a scowl. He was hoping that Lucinda's growing reputation in the hunting community would at _least_ catch the attention of any, if not _all_ , celestial creatures. "That's our main target."

"Angels don't involve themselves in human matters unless absolutely necessary," Margo said, her gaze going back to Lucinda.

"This is a Nephilim we're talking about," the older man grumbled. "She's half- _angel_ , Margo. I thought at least _some_ one would come for her."

"We need to be patient, dad. I'm sure one will come for her eventually."

 **O.O.O.O**

Lucinda maneuvered through the scrapyard on the Fitzpatrick property. The sights in front of her was something she was very familiar with; it comforted her after returning from hunts or training. Or, if she was feeling a little bored, she'd take a walk around to keep herself occupied. The scrapyard was filled with all _kinds_ of things. Plenty of the scrap metal was taken by Otis to become weapons, sometimes Isaac would take any spare parts he could find before disappearing. Margo never really ventured into the scrapyard without a reason, which Lucinda didn't really ponder on.

Taking in a deep breath, the eighteen year old could smell a mixture of things in the air. A lot of it was from, of course, the scrapyard, but a lot of it seemed to come from other surrounding areas, as well. Mixing in with the metallic, oily smell of the Fitzpatrick property, Lucinda could smell a more _Earthly_ scent. Maybe it was plantlife, or it was soil, she couldn't say for sure. All she really knew was that she found it pleasant. It was a kind of relaxing quality that came with the scrapyard. Stopping in front of one of the old cars, Lucinda took the time to study it. She'd seen the car hundreds, if not _thousands_ , of times before. Whatever color it had before was gone, covered in dark rust. The windows were either filthy, cracked, or missing. About two tires were missing, with cement blocks used to keep it even. The inside of the car was even worse than the front. The seats were ruined from exposure. Leaves, twigs, all kinds of outside factors, were inside, littering the seats and dashboard. The steering wheel had spider webs on them, anything capable of breaking on the inside was cracked. In Lucinda's eyes, she found it all to be interesting, how something as natural as _weather_ could break down such a vehicle. Though she had to keep in mind the car was probably older than her.

Gently touching the rusted passenger side door, the young Nephilim let out a sigh. At one point, someone used that vehicle to get around. They used it to visit people and places, maybe even a hunter used it. It was hard to say. Part of her wished she could've known who owned the vehicle beforehand. Dropping her hand, Lucinda pursed her lips. Was she feeling sentimental? For owners of an old _car_? Without even a second glance, she turned away and started walking around some more. She had the Fitzpatrick property memorized like the back of her hand. But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it from time to time, even if it was kind of ugly. Swinging her arms back and forth, Lucinda looked up at the sky. It was getting close to sundown, considering the steady drop in temperature. Even _with_ some clouds covering the sky, the sky was slowly getting darker with each passing minute.

 _Did Otis find a job for me to do?_ Lucinda thought. Usually, around sundown, a job would be presented for the young Nephilim. Nighttime assignments were her favorite ones, considering all the best monsters seemed to have a connection to nightfall. Vamps, the occasional spirit, sometimes even _werewolves_. Those ones seemed to be the more popular monsters, though on one occasion Lucinda did find herself capable of exorcising a demon. That was the one and only time she'd ever encountered one. According to Margo, demons, along with angels, were extremely rare. However, demons seemed to, statistically according to Margo, appear more than angels. The way Lucinda saw it, an encounter with either race was a hit-and-miss. Either she'd encounter one, or she wouldn't. Angels, though, were the one species Lucinda hadn't encountered yet, though she could see there was some importance to them. Otis was hellbent on her finding one, he wanted her reputation in the hunting community to get so prominent that Heaven couldn't help _but_ send their finest warriors. Lucinda didn't understand his obsession, she found it all strange. What was Heaven's connection to her hunting abilities? How did angels seem to work into the equation? There didn't seem to be any rationale behind it. Of course, Lucinda didn't voice her opinions. She knew better than to do so. She did the Fitzpatricks' dirty work, she didn't try and reason with them.

Brushing some of her red hair behind her ears, Lucinda let out a sigh. She really hoped Otis found her a job to do. Her mind was starting to wander, she was starting to question things. She had no right to do that. Margo allowed her to live with them, to train and be a successful hunter. Lucinda was a _weapon_.

Swallowing thickly, Lucinda turned back to the house. She'd have to get in before she started to get carried away. She couldn't afford that. She couldn't _do_ that to herself or to the Fitzpatricks.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I got a little sidetracked and this slipped my mind for a little while. Hopefully, though, you guys like it. I'll understand if you think it's messy or just not good. That's kinda how I feel about this one. But just let me know how to improve this! I feel like constructive criticism is the best way for me to make this story better in the future. So if you've got any, don't hesitate to let me know, OK? I'm really open to it.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and an undying love for music. If you've got OCs or subplots you'd like added to the story, PM me or leave a review. I'll add it in as soon as possible.**

 **On that note, see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	4. Chapter Four: Bowie

_"I'm not a prophet or a stone aged man, just a mortal with potential of a superman. I'm living on."_

-David Bowie

* * *

Lucinda's relationship with the Fitzpatricks could be seen as. . . . _odd_. They weren't her biological family, but she viewed them as a kind of family of sorts. They treated her like dirt, but she didn't mind. She'd been physically, psychologically, and emotionally abused her whole life, but she was fine with it. The Fitzpatricks used Lucinda for their own gain, and she was in no way against it. Her powers helped them. She _wanted_ to help them. If it hadn't been for the small, dysfunctional family, Lucinda never would've learned how to control her powers. Sure, it took years of emotional manipulation to get there, but it worked. If it hadn't been for the Fitzpatricks, she never would've learned how to fight. It was painful beyond belief, but it was effective. There were so many things the family did for her, and Lucinda wanted to repay them in some way. It was the least she could do, after they gave her shelter, food, and clothes. Being their weapon, their tool, gave her a purpose. It gave her a place in the world. Lucinda's parents, her biological parents, were in no way involved in her life. Margo ensured the young Nephilim that the mother who birthed her was dead, and the father who sired her chose not to be involved with her. For Lucinda, that made no sense. Her mother was dead and her father didn't want her? What was that supposed to mean? How was she supposed to feel? She had no recollection of either, so maybe she wasn't _supposed_ to feel anything. All Lucinda knew was the Fitzpatricks and their contribution to the Nephilim's upbringing. That was the important thing, right? That there was _some_ one who wanted to take her in?

It was definitely odd, Lucinda's relationship with the Fitzpatricks. She was just an extension of their power in the hunting community, nothing more. They were the family she felt she needed. A need that was never verbally expressed. If Otis or Margo, or even _Isaac_ , discovered she had developed a soft-spot for them, they'd do whatever was necessary to get it out of her. Lucinda was made to not express herself in any way. It didn't matter if it was shown externally or felt internally, she was supposed to be emotionless. Margo deduced the Nephilim's powers were connected to her emotions, which would've made her highly unstable as she grew, but it was because of that severed connection that Lucinda was able to effortlessly use her abilities. No painful human emotions to hold her back. That was how it was _supposed_ to be.

So as she made her way into the Fitzpatrick home, she sighed. She'd be greeted with the same view — either Otis drinking at the kitchen table, or Margo reading a book in the dilapidated library, or no one would be home at all. It was a hit and miss at the Fitzpatrick residence. Once she made it inside, however, she was greeted with both Otis _and_ Margo looking at her. Father and daughter looked as if they were scrutinizing her, as if Lucinda were some kind of science experiment. That was something that happened quite frequently. Lucinda didn't know why she was scrutinized so often by the family, but she was. She wanted to know, she wanted answers, but she wasn't seen as someone worth their time. Lucinda's usefulness was in fighting and killing, in exploiting others to ensure the Fitzpatrick's personal gain. If it didn't involve any of that, then she wasn't seen as important.

"You've been outside for quite some time," Margo said, her voice firm.

"I apologize." Lucinda's response was almost automatic, her tone void of emotions. It was obvious she'd been trained in what to say around the family, as well. She had to be respectful; one wrong word and she'd be subjected to horrendous consequences. "Did you need me for something?"

"Did you want to go out tonight?" Margo's question caught the young Nephilim off guard. She hadn't expected something like that. Lucinda was hoping she'd be presented with some kind of case, a way to keep herself occupied from the steadily growing intrusive thoughts. "It's Halloween after all," Margo continued. "Typically, people your age would go out and have fun."

"Is this a test, Ms. Fitzpatrick?" The eighteen year old's eyes narrowed slightly, her body tensing. What was being said _had_ to be a test. No one in the family ever asked Lucinda whether or not she wanted to "go out". No one in the family ever cared if she had a moment of selfishness. It was always about what _they_ wanted. Aside from Lucinda finding the question odd, even a bit suspicious, she found the look in Margo's eyes to be a bit treacherous. There had to be something the older woman was refusing to say. Why else would a question like that be suggested?

"You're eighteen, Lucinda," Margo responded. "You should gain a little independence. I believe you'll have a safe night, won't you?"

"With all due respect, Ms. Fitzpatrick," Lucinda stated, "I don't think it's a good idea for me to go out tonight. You've stated that I can't expose myself to the populace unless it involves a case."

"Are you _deaf_ , kid?" Otis barked, his patience wearing thin. "My daughter said you can go out tonight. It's not a suggestion, it's an _order_. Do you understand me?"

A look swept across the young Nephilim's eyes for just a moment before she walked out the front door. When it came to Otis, he always seemed to have such a short temper with her. He wasn't always like that with Margo or Isaac, which made Lucinda wonder why? What had she ever done to him? She'd been nothing but obedient and loyal, doing the older man's dirty work while he sat back fat and happy. Lucinda knew that she had a duty to the family, while she wasn't sure why, she knew that she couldn't get mad at them or hold any ill-feelings when it came to them. The Fitzpatricks were the closest she'd ever get to a family, and she'd do whatever it took to keep that connection going.

 **O.O.O.O**

In the hunting community, legends and storytelling were common. It was a natural thing everyone participated in, whether they truly believed it all or not. Some of the legends were of monsters no one had ever encountered, or maybe creatures no one particularly believed in. The storytelling, well, that was their way of sharing their experiences. Whether it was a normal life before hunting took over, or it was just of monsters and people they'd encountered along the way. For many hunters, their life had been the only thing they'd ever known, they were born into it. For others, they were _forced_ into it. From the loss of a loved one, to a deal they couldn't back out of, the hunting life managed to drag all kinds of people in. It was almost heartbreaking. But, sadly, _some_ one had to keep the supernatural community under wraps. If word got out that all the creatures people knew in horror movies were _real_ , then things would go to shit fast, and it didn't help that a lot of the things that go bump in the night could pose as ordinary humans. Vamps, werewolves — they could get away with looking human, the only downside would be their undying need for blood and hearts. Demons? They could possess a body, pretend to be the vessel for as long as necessary. No one would know unless salt or holy water got involved. Honestly, there were too many ways to take down a demon. Shapeshifters, Vetalas, Djinns — the list could go on. Hunters had to exist so the monsters would stay in line.

But, in regards to stories, plenty of them circled around the hunting community. They seemed to spread rather quickly. While hunters did their best to keep what was truly important to themselves, there were small moments of weakness sometimes, and they just couldn't help spilling the beans. Maybe it was the occasional inexperienced hunter, or maybe it was a more experienced one, both reminiscing on the old times. Of families they wished they could have, a family they either lost or left behind. Sentimental things. But when it came to legends, that was when everyone was really engaged. While not all legends were believed in the hunting community, there were a few they all agreed on. Then there were the legends shrouded in speculation. One of them was about the Scarlet Phantom. It was stated that very few hunters ever encountered her and managed to live. Any who _did_ survive were scared out of their mind, believing she'd return to kill them at any given time. Her description was the same by any who lived to tell — a petite redheaded girl, looking as if she were barely twenty. If they managed to see her face, they described it as emotionless, but her eyes were something that really caught attention. Some claimed she had glowing whitish-blue eyes, other said it was a green-brown color. Some believed she was a vengeful spirit, one who had a vendetta against all kinds of living things. Others believed she was a living, breathing monster, considering her ability to appear and disappear at will. On top of that, she could easily take down multiple creatures and humans at once, not even breaking a sweat while doing so. The one thing that always stood out, though, was the brutality in which she fought. She was savage in how she took down her targets, leaving a bloodied mess wherever she appeared. It was horrific. Because of her savagery and the quickness of her appearance and disappearance, that was how she earned her nickname.

Many hunters believed the legend of the Scarlet Phantom to be fake. So few have ever encountered her, and the ones who managed to survive were practically driven mad with fear. The whole legend was shrouded in so much mystery, so much speculation, that it was a bit of a touchy subject to dive into. Though hunters have agreed, whether they believe in the legend or not, that it does send shivers up their spine.

For John Winchester, however, he believed in the story. In all the time he spent hunting monsters, he believed that, to an extent, anything was possible. The Scarlet Phantom, for John, could help him in his search for the demon who killed his wife. He could only hope it led to _some_ thing. Dean had managed to go on his own hunts, which was a good thing for the Winchester patriarch. The more time he had to do his own investigating, the better. That meant no distractions, nothing to hold him back. John knew Dean was a capable hunter, but he was headstrong in his own right, and had a sarcastic streak to go along with it. Of course, Dean knew better than to behave that way in front of his father, but it slipped from time to time. But with his son out of the way, John's focus could finally be on what needed to get done. So, he'd head down to Louisiana in hopes of figuring out what was so important about the Scarlet Phantom. What made her so well-known in the hunting community? Just how many people managed to lay eyes on her and live? Those kinds of questions needed answers. Maybe, if John got lucky, he'd encounter that little redhead himself. There had to be a way to get her to show up.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Sorry for the wait on this chapter. It seems a little sloppy, only because I'm kinda running on fumes right now. If you've got constructive criticism on how this, and future updates, can be improved, don't hesitate to PM me and/or leave a review.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and the keyboard in my room. If you've got an OC or a subplot you'd like to have added to the story, PM me or leave a review; I'll add it in as soon as possible.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	5. Chapter Five: Fisher

_"Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What's important is the action. You don't have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow."_

-Carrie Fisher

* * *

Sam hated hunting, simple as that. After the death of his mother, his father became obsessed with finding whoever was responsible. In John's eyes, that was the only acceptable way to handle the death of his wife. Not grieve like a normal person, but go into the world of the supernatural and spend over _two_ _decades_ trying to find and kill the thing. And one of the many downsides of having a father who's obsessed with the supernatural was him remembering he also had two kids to take care of. John's need to kill the faceless, nameless murderer made him believe he had to train his sons to be his little soldiers. Dean, being the firstborn, took it all in with stride. He could shoot a gun no problem, make his own sawed-off shotgun with ease, and could easily take down monsters without so much as breaking a sweat. John, in fact, was more brutal on Dean than he was on Sam. That was only because the youngest Winchester was protected by his brother. Considering a lot of hunting meant moving across the country, that would mean Dean was in charge of taking care of Sam if John ever went solo. But, should all three be together, Dean made sure his little brother was protected from his father at all costs. Sometimes it worked, but other times it didn't. Sam's and John's personalities clashed as they got older, which meant a lot of arguing. It became obvious that the hunting life was something the youngest Winchester wanted to leave behind, which caused a lot of uproar from his father. Dean, naturally, tried in his _own_ way to convince Sam to stay, but nothing worked. At only eighteen, the youngest but tallest Winchester had been accepted into Stanford, which resulted in John kicking him out. It hurt, of course, but that meant Sam could finally have a shot at a normal life. He wouldn't have to kill monsters or worry about whether he'd live to see another day. He wouldn't have to see his father, but that also meant he'd have to leave Dean behind. That was probably the only thing Sam would miss the most about his old life, but he would have to live with it.

Going to Stanford, or any good school for that matter, had been one of Sam's dreams since he'd entered his teenage years. Despite having to move from town to town every couple months, John's youngest son excelled in every school he attended. He got good grades, he understood the lessons being taught — it was almost surprising. Dean decided to drop out of high school, seeing as a standard education wouldn't help him banish evil spirits or kill a vamp. But, in the end, and some time later, he chose to get a GED. He'd never truly admit why he chose to go back and get one, though. Maybe it was the idea of having _some_ thing useful from the mundane walks of life, considering a GED could help him get an average job one day. But the likes of _that_ ever happening were slim to none. For Sam, however, education was very important to him. He didn't want to be a hunter like his father and brother, he didn't want to "join the family business". Sam wanted to be what _he_ wanted to be, not have some predetermined position in a line of work that would have him killed before he hit thirty. John would often say that being a hunter meant he'd be avenging his mother, but that was not the way the youngest Winchester saw it. Sam never met his mother, he had no memory of his mother. She died when he was a baby, so it was hard for him to try and avenge someone he had no recollection of. Of course his mother meant a lot to him, and he wished he knew her outside of the stories Dean told, but that wasn't how it worked. She was gone, and killing her murderer wouldn't bring her back. It was a hard pill to swallow, but Sam had to accept it. The day his mother died, burned alive in his nursery, there was no body left, not even ashes. Her grave was essentially an empty casket buried six feet underground, by a relative neither he nor Dean knew. Sam would pay his respects when necessary, but he wasn't going to dedicate his entire life to killing something that could be _anywhere_. Whatever it was that killed Sam's mother disappeared as quickly as it appeared. It was like finding a needle in a haystack.

For Sam, he felt like he knew when to draw the line. The way John was handling his wife's death was in no way _healthy_. To make matters worse, he trained his own _sons_ to be killers and to put their lives on the line on a _hunch_. Those were the only things John ever went by. Hunches, rumors, false sightings — those were things the Winchesters faced almost daily before Sam left. Once he turned eighteen, the youngest Winchester announced his acceptance in Stanford, which led to his father kicking him out of the family. While Sam did have some initial relief over leaving, a little bit of worry still remained. Dean, his own brother, stayed with John to continue hunting. It hurt a little, but Sam knew that his brother would do anything to please their father. That little part of Dean, the son who desperately sought the approval and love of his father, broke Sam's heart. The brothers never had the chance to bond with John. He was so dedicated in avenging his late wife that he treated his kids more as tools than as actual children. _His_ children. It was sick. Dean grew up thinking he had to be exactly like his father — liking old cars and classical music, dressing almost similarly, having nearly similar attitudes — Sam didn't know what to think about that.

Of all the things Sam wanted with John, it would be the chance to actually _talk_ to him. Both of them acknowledged they couldn't even be in the same _room_ together without _some_ kind of argument breaking out. Their personalities didn't work, their views on certain things didn't work, so many things about John's and Sam's relationship _didn't_ _work_. But it was still nice to think, on occasion, what it'd be like if the two could sit and actually have a civil conversation. No yelling, no threats, no Dean intervening. Just both of them being calm and collected. That was just never going to happen. So, after he managed to move into an apartment near Stanford, Sam felt as if he were starting over. He was going to live the life he'd always dreamed of. He was going to college, a _good_ one at that, and he was going to make a name for himself in normal society. He'd become a lawyer, a field Sam believed he would excel in. He was good with people and he was pretty much a _master_ at putting research and gathering important information. Not to mention he did relatively well under pressure. Being a lawyer shouldn't have been _too_ difficult.

As Sam's college experienced rolled along, he'd eventually meet Jessica Moore. The two met over a mutual friend and not long after, Sam and Jess were a couple. They lived together, they did normal couple things, it made the young Winchester forget about his old life for a little while. Jess was pretty, intelligent, his entire _world_. Hell, once the relationship got really serious, Sam planned on proposing. He was close to his girlfriend's family, all he'd have to do is ask for a blessing and get a ring. But, of course, not everything goes the way people want it to. Barely a year into the relationship, Sam started having dreams of Jess dying. It was gruesome and it always left him waking in a cold sweat, breathless. Of course he never told her about it, he didn't want to freak her out. Sam knew the last thing Jess needed to hear was his weird dreams of her. Then, to make matters worse, a little over a year into the relationship, Sam got a visit from Dean. The brothers rarely spoke since Sam got kicked out. Dean wanted nothing more than to reach out to his brother, but he knew their father wouldn't be happy with that. So, when John went to get on a lead and hadn't contacted his eldest son in a few days, it was obvious something was wrong. While John wasn't necessarily good at keeping people up-to-date, he knew how much time was considered too long without contact. At least sometimes. Other times he could go months without keeping in contact. And while Sam did his best to make it seem like John's disappearance didn't bother him, he knew that it was driving Dean practically insane. And while the youngest Winchester was reluctant to agree, he knew he'd have to do something; at least to help reassure Dean. Jess, naturally, was against the idea of leaving, since Sam had a meeting on Monday to get into law school, on a full ride, too, but he assured her he'd be back in no time.

He just had to make sure Dean was aware of that, too.

 **O.O.O.O**

"You're _sure_ this is a good idea?" Margo's gaze went up to her father; carefully studying the stoic look on his face. "She's strong, but they could really do a number on her."

"She's a Nephilim, remember?" Otis' tone seemed almost mocking. "She'll be able to handle him. He's separated from that brat of his, so it'll be even better."

"I'm just saying, those Winchesters do put up one helluva fight."

Otis simply grunted in response.

"What did they ever do to you anyway?" Margo asked.

"I've hunted twice with John before," Otis muttered, his voice bitter. "He's an arrogant ass. Always lookin' for ways to make himself look better."

With an arched brow, Margo scoffed, shaking her head. " _That's_ why you want him dead? 'Cause he's an ass?"

"He's gotten good friends of mine killed. He doesn't care about what he does to others, only what can benefit himself."

"Sounds a lot like what we're doing."

"Hardly." Otis glared down at his daughter. "What we're doing is for the betterment of mankind. That Nephilim will be our weapon in the fight against the angels."

"She's certainly made a name for herself," Margo responded, "but shouldn't the angels have come for her by now? It's rare for a Nephilim to make it this far without detection."

"We'll have to be patient." The very word was said with so much resentment, so much _bitterness_ , that it made Margo's blood run cold for a moment. Her father's hatred for angels was apparent, and it made his eldest daughter worry for him. He was manipulating religion for his own sick purpose. His belief that God and his angels murdered Annabelle drove him nearly mad. Again, no one really knew who or what killed Otis' wife. Was it human? Supernatural? Something in between? It was hard to say. The Fitzpatrick family would've given anything to have answers, but they couldn't find any. When the cops were involved after the discovery of Annabelle's murder, they had no leads, no evidence, _nothing_. Years later, there were still only theories and speculation on who could've done it. Many thought Otis did it and cleaned up his tracks. But there wasn't much evidence to say he did anything. He was just a confused, grieving father with three young children.

"We both know you're not the patient type," Margo muttered dryly.

"The Winchesters are a bunch of bumbling fools," Otis barked, "that's all they amount to. Sure, ol' John's made a name for himself, but his _kid_ ain't worth shit."

The only response Margo gave was an almost uninterested hum.

 **O.O.O.O**

The drive to Louisiana was long and tedious, that was how John saw it. He wasn't sure why the drive felt so uneventful for him. Maybe it was because of the lack of monsters or side-cases he'd encountered along the way. Or maybe the idea of hunting a supposed "vengeful spirit" that only appeared under certain circumstances made him feel a bit. . . .anxious. And if there was one thing John Winchester wasn't, it was anxious. Decades of hunting the supernatural hardened him; made him more aggressive, more forward with how things should be. The thought of _possibly_ running into the Scarlet Phantom shouldn't make him feel the way he did.

Letting out a sigh, the Winchester patriarch tried to get himself comfortable in the driver's seat. He'd just entered Louisiana, and all he had to do was find that little town the Phantom occupied. If he could get there within the next day or so, then he'd definitely be relieved. The only downside was that the town she frequented was a little no-name one.* It was so uninteresting, so _pointless_ , that it didn't even make it on the map. While asking for directions was one thing John could attempt, that was one thing he just couldn't do. He didn't have time to ask every single person for directions; it took up too much time and wasted too much energy. John had to keep himself going, he had to keep in mind the time-frame he made for himself. He could only stay in Louisiana for a certain amount of time before moving on. If the Scarlet Phantom was real, then he hoped to see her before his departure. If she wasn't, then he'd move on. All John wanted to do was to find her and see what he could do with her. Did she know anything about the yellow-eyed demon? Was she really a spirit or some new form of monster? Was there a way to kill her? All those questions swirled through John's head from time to time, and most days it drove him mad.

For John, all he wanted was some answers. Spending all that time driving allowed him to think more deeply into why he wanted to see the Phantom. Yes, he wanted to know her importance to hunters, and he wanted to know why she killed almost every hunter she encountered. But there had to be more to her than just that. There just _had_ to be.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **If you guys have any kind of constructive criticism for this chapter, let me know. I'd love to know what I can improve on to make this story better! So don't hesitate to do so if you see anything that comes across as weird, confusing, etc.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and the spaghetti I'm going to make. If you've got ideas for OCs or subplots, don't hesitate to PM me or leave a review. I'll be sure to add it in as soon as possible.**

 **Like I mentioned before, constructive criticism is always welcome. I know some people don't see the need to leave reviews, but if there's something that doesn't look right to you, let me know. I don't know what I can improve on if no one tells me. That may come off as a bit desperate on my part, but I think reviewer contribution is really important. You guys help me develop as a writer and improve on my work.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	6. Chapter Six: God Help The Girl

_I love my room, I'm getting used to sleeping_

 _Some nights I really like to lie awake_  
 _I hear the midnight birds_  
 _The message in their words_  
 _The dawn will touch me in a way a boy could never touch_  
 _Their promise never meant so much to me_

-God Help The Girl; **by God Help The Girl**

* * *

Lucinda's brain was still rattling on over Margo's and Otis' words. Why were they allowing her to go out? Sure, it was Halloween, but why did they feel the need to throw her out without any real purpose? She wasn't presented a case, she wasn't told of anything suspicious going on, she was just _out_. Never in Lucinda's eighteen years of life had she been told to go out, to be exposed in the outside world without a genuine purpose. But there was also the look in Margo's eyes while she offered the proposition. Lucinda couldn't ignore that look. There _had_ to have been an ulterior motive behind that offer. It was completely out of the blue, completely _uncalled_ for. Was it because it was Halloween that Margo and Otis let her go? Were they seeing if she'd be able to handle herself without their constant guidance? Sure, Lucinda had been able handle herself on cases without the Fitzpatricks breathing down her neck, but she just couldn't shake off her unease. Letting out a sigh, she wrapped her arms around herself, wondering what she could do on her spare time. She hadn't been given a time to go back to the house, so she assumed maybe they were letting her have some free reign, at least for the night. But, again, she was _assuming_. The Fitzpatricks were strange in the way the ran things, and a lot of the time Lucinda had to learn the hard way.

Looking up at the sky, the young Nephilim studied the different colors. She saw deep blues, some dark reds, and little bits of pink here and there. The sun had set significantly, barely a sliver of light over the horizon. In some of the darker areas of the nighttime sky, Lucinda saw small dots of light appearing — stars. Nighttime was one of the few times out of the day the eighteen year old felt the most at home. She rarely ever slept, only a small handful of hours out of the day, which the Fitzpatricks found useful. For Lucinda, she didn't know why she slept less compared to others, but she knew that no one would ever give her the reasoning as to why. Her entire existence seemed to be a mystery no one wanted to answer. The Fitzpatricks didn't have abilities, but Lucinda did. She didn't have to eat or sleep _as_ much compared to other humans, she couldn't be injured by knives or bullets — it didn't make much sense. Sure, some punches and kicks every now and again could leave some nasty bruises and some sore areas, but Lucinda could easily heal herself. She wasn't invulnerable, but she was harder to take down compared to the average human. There were so many things that didn't add up, but Lucinda knew that if she asked questions, she'd be met with horrible reactions. Otis' unstable reactions would probably be first, since he'd try and beat that kind of thinking out of her. Margo would try and manipulate the young Nephilim into thinking differently, not wanting her to break the control the Fitzpatricks had over her. While to any other person they'd see what Lucinda went through as abuse — all Nephilim and hunting statuses aside — to the eighteen year old, it was all just an average interaction. Beatings, manipulation, lies and killing, that was what the Fitzpatricks used as control over Lucinda. She had nowhere else to go, no people to reach out to. She was isolated from the outside world, only being allowed to go out when it came to hunts.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Lucinda's gaze lowered. She stared at the dirt road she was walking on. She'd walked maybe a mile, the Fitzpatrick residence getting smaller the further out she went. What could she do until she returned? Those questions were going to swirl around in her head for God knows how long until she managed to figure it out. Moments like those were always terrible. Lucinda wasn't comfortable with the whole guessing game; she didn't feel like it was necessary. What if Margo and Otis wanted her home soon? What if they needed her for something? What was there for Lucinda outside anyway? Sure, it was Halloween; plenty of monsters used the holiday as an excuse to be their true selves. Maybe that was the reason. Margo and Otis wanted the young Nephilim to find and kill monsters on her own, to determine which ones looked a bit inhuman. If that was what they had in mind, then Lucinda would do her best to go with it. Besides, what's the worse that could happen?

 **O.O.O.O**

Angels were a very particular species. They believed in order, keeping the balance between themselves and Heaven, and humans and Earth. For the latter, however, they tried not to intervene _too_ much — humans were a primitive and violent group, known throughout Heaven for their flaws. It felt like yesterday when God created those little creatures. It also didn't feel that long ago when the angels were ordered to bow down to humanity. Due to that demand, many angels viewed humans with resentment, not completely understanding why such an insignificant group would be so admired by God. Because of God's love for his creations, it led to Heaven's first civil war. Lucifer, one of the four Archangels, rebelled against his father out of jealousy and hatred for mankind. It wasn't until after the Archangel's banishment that their dear father chose to abandon Heaven, with not a single angel hearing anything since. That had been centuries ago. Because of that, the angels decided to keep an eye on how things progressed between themselves and humans. The only time they'd get involved in Earthly affairs would be under very specific circumstances, and they'd have to be _really_ good ones, too. No running around, interfering in human affairs without a valid reason behind it. That went against everything Heaven stood for.

As the centuries ticked by, and both Heaven and Earth saw itself progressing, both species started to see changes within themselves. For humans, they saw themselves progressing as a species, seeing themselves as intelligent and capable of surviving. For angels, it was the views they held on humans. While many still held resentment for their father's creation, others viewed them as flawed but worthy beings. Some angels, who'd grown curious over the centuries, chose to go down and interact with the humans. The only problem was that an ordinary person would die if they ever saw an angel's true form. So, in order for them to safely interact with mankind, it was required someone give consent to have their bodies possessed. That way, there'd be no issues and everything could go by safely. But with some of those angels, safely interacting with humans seemed to go right out the window. In no time at all, there were reports of intimacy going on between the two species, which left Heaven in a state of panic. Was there a purpose behind the sudden spark of intimacy? Angels didn't do anything without some kind of purpose, they needed _reasoning_. Or was it because there was an _attraction_ starting to flow? It was baffling, startling, _terrifying_. Should the intimacy result in a Nephilim, then Heaven would be in _huge_ trouble. That was something angels rarely ever encountered, if _ever_. But when the first reported Nephilim pregnancy came into Heaven's radar, a state of panic seemed to spread throughout the place. They couldn't allow such an abomination to live, not with the power it possessed. A Nephilim was, basically, a human with angel grace. Remove the grace, all that's left is an ordinary human. But not even _that_ was acceptable. In order to restore the natural balance of things, the Nephilim in its entirety would have to be eliminated.

And so, over the centuries, when news of Nephilim pregnancies started to rise, Heaven would send down small garrisons of angels to eliminate the problem. It was best to get it over with before the abomination's birth, and considering the human mother would die in childbirth, it didn't make much of a difference if she was killed as well. There were few instances were the Nephilim were successfully born, but they'd be found and killed a short time later. Other instances, some equally as rare, showed that the half-breed would make it into early adulthood, somehow avoiding Heaven's radars for _decades_. In the end, they'd always be found. Well, save for just _one_. It had been born eighteen years ago, somewhere in America. While the Nephilim's existence was still considered an abomination, it was also dubbed the most dangerous half-breed in Heaven's history. Its angelic parent was an _Archangel_. And since it's fact that half-breeds become more powerful than their sire when they reach adulthood, that would mean the Nephilim would reach powers beyond that of an Archangel. That was a perfect reason to panic. That was a perfect example as to why angels should not interact with humans whatsoever. And to make matters worse, any sightings on the half-breed were sporadic. There were no real patterns to where it would show up, but then it would disappear for an unknown amount of time before popping up again. Where it disappeared to was a mystery, not a single angel in Heaven could pinpoint the exact location. All they knew was that the abomination resided in rural Louisiana. They were just hoping to wait long enough for the Nephilim to stay out longer than its usual time.

As it would seem, their wish seemed to have come true. On All Hallow's Eve, that little Nephilim made a surprise appearance for the first time in almost a month. It seemed as though it was making no attempt to leave any time soon, either. That was probably the perfect time to attack.

 **O.O.O.O**

Lucinda had been walking for well over an hour. The sun had set, and the air was more than just chilly. Having her arms wrapped around herself, the eighteen year old hunched her shoulders in a half-assed attempt to keep herself warm. Without the Fitzpatricks hovering over her shoulder, Lucinda seemed just a _little_ more comfortable with expressing herself. Just a _little_. She knew better than to show too much, considering the consequences she'd face at the hands of the family.

Sighing, the Nephilim tried to walk a little faster. If she could make it to town, then she'd be able to do some hunting. She was feeling a little antsy. Lucinda knew she could've transported herself to town, but walking gave her some alone time. It allowed her to think. She never really had that opportunity when it came to the Fitzpatricks. With them, she was their mindless little killing machine. With them, it was better if Lucinda didn't think at _all_. Well, unless it had to do with strategies of course, then she could think. Brushing some of her hair out of her face, the eighteen year old wondered what she might find once she made it to town. Would she encounter werewolves? Vamps? Maybe some vengeful spirits or poltergeists? It was hard to tell. Since Lucinda wasn't given any proper explanation on what she should be doing, she'd have to make it up as she went along. That was something she was OK with. But she didn't even get to walk a full yard before experiencing a splitting headache. It appeared suddenly, with no explanation. To accompany the headache was a loud, high-pitched noise. Curling over in pain, Lucinda was so focused on the headache, she didn't even notice the figures that appeared behind her.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Not my best chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway. If you've got constructive criticism, let me know. I'm always open to that kind of stuff.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and the shoes I wear. If you've got ideas for subplots or OCs, PM me or leave a review. I'll add them in as soon as possible.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	7. Chapter Seven: Collins

_"Even small acts of kindness can make a profound difference to somebody else."_

-Misha Collins

* * *

Never in Lucinda's eighteen years of life had she experienced something so painful. None of the training she did with the Fitzpatricks was that bad. At least with the family, the pain was manageable; the headache and the ringing was so severe she felt as if she were about to pass out. Lucinda's hands gripped her head tightly, as if trying to relieve the pain; her shoulders hunched over and her face contorted in pain. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. On top of that, her body started trembling, her breathing started becoming heavier, and a light sheen of sweat formed on her skin. Letting out a pained shriek, without her even realizing it, she unleashed a powerful wave of telekinetic energy, causing the silently creeping forms to be thrown back. Because Lucinda was so overwhelmed by her pain, she failed to realize she was no longer alone. The beings who'd appeared so suddenly were a small garrison of angels, sent to kill her while she was exposed. They had their weapons, and were more than willing to risk their lives in an attempt to kill the Nephilim. But after that blast of energy, it left them unconscious, with Lucinda gaining enough control over herself to _really_ take a look on what had happened. Looking behind her, she could see the forms of a small group of people on the ground, they weren't moving but they _were_ breathing. That wasn't what caught Lucinda's attention, though, it was something else entirely. Surrounding those bodies were bright lights, each one seemingly varying in intensity.

"What the hell. . . .," she muttered, her voice weak and shaky. When one of them started groaning, showing signs of regaining consciousness, a wave of fear suddenly washed over Lucinda's body, making her instantly, and without thinking, teleport somewhere else. If she could put some distance between herself and the assailants, then she'd be OK in the meantime. All she'd have to do is figure out a plan of attack. Unfortunately, all thoughts of planning were thrown from her mind when she transported in the middle of another dirt road, with a car just _feet_ away. With instinct taking over, Lucinda threw her hands up, nearly crashing the car back with her telekinesis.* Peering _just_ over her hands, Lucinda could see the car skidding back, the headlights flickering before exploding, and a whole bunch of unnatural sounds coming from the engine and tires. With her breathing becoming more erratic, the young Nephilim wondered if she should teleport somewhere else or check on the driver, but her mind was so scrambled with the fear coursing through her body, that she remained frozen where she stood. For the first time in _years_ , she was experiencing human emotions, and it was wrecking havoc on her body. She felt like every nerve ending in her body was on fire with fear, her brain was coming up with all kind of scenarios and conclusions, thinking of all the ways those lighted figures would come after her. They appeared so suddenly, Lucinda didn't know what to make of them. They were more than likely violent, considering they were sneaking up behind her. Letting out an almost pathetic whimper, her hands gripped her head again, her top half hunching over as she tried to calm herself down. "What is happening to me?" she whispered, her voice trembling. The backs of her eyes burned with oncoming tears.

The surge of energy that was flowing through Lucinda's body seemed to go along with how she was feeling. Her telekinesis was one of her strongest abilities, aside from her pyrokinetic and photokinetic abilities. After years of training with the Fitzpatricks, the young Nephilim knew very well that kinetic abilities was one of her strengths, but she did her best to heighten the other abilities she possessed. But in that moment, any thought of the Fitzpatricks were immediately shoved aside. They weren't as important at the moment. Her body, her powers, everything that was going on, it was tearing her apart. What was she supposed to do? She got herself away from her assailants, but what about the man in the car? Was he one of them? Would he hurt her or _kill_ her? What if he wanted to kidnap her, use her for his own personal gain? Was that how it was going to be?

 _'What the hell. . . .Where'd she. . . .She just stopped my car. . . .'_ The whispered sounds of a man's voice filled Lucinda's head. While it was better than listening to that damned noise from earlier, it still sent fear throughout the eighteen year old's body. Her telepathy was starting to act out a little. Usually, she had control over herself, over what she displayed, but the sudden onslaught of fear caused her to break a portion of Margo's training. Emotions led to disaster, which led to Lucinda getting into trouble. All she had to do was regain her composure, get her powers back in order, and things would work themselves out. As for the people who tried to attack her, she'd figure that out later.

The sound of the car door opening and slamming shut caused Lucinda to flinch. She heard gravel and dirt crunch over heavy footsteps, which made a lump form in the young Nephilim's throat. "What the _hell_ did you just do?!" His voice was relatively deep, having a bit of a gruff edge to it. He expressed himself in an authoritative way, which almost reminded Lucinda of Otis. While the Fitzpatrick patriarch had his instabilities, he was still in charge and expressed it accordingly. "Hey—," he snapped.

"I'm sorry," Lucinda interrupted, her voice cracking. "I'm _sorry_."

A second of silence went by before the young Nephilim heard the click of a gun. Whoever that man was, he was aiming and preparing his gun, which was understandable. If someone came out of nowhere and shoved a car back without so much as an _explanation_ , well, Lucinda would do what he was doing. "What _are_ you?" he barked.

"No one." The response was immediate. It was practically automatic. The Fitzpatricks made sure to tell Lucinda that outside of what she did, she was worthless, a nobody. She believed it wholeheartedly. Anyone who spent their whole life killing others would think the same thing. "Just. . . .I'm _sorry_ , OK?"

"That's not good enough."

Glancing up at him, Lucinda swallowed thickly. She saw his gun, and the silhouette of his form. He was obviously taller than her, and he was more built, as well. It wasn't all that surprising, though; despite the years of training Lucinda had under her belt, she still didn't compare to most hunters or supernatural creatures. Her height and slender build made her come off as weak and defenseless, almost laughably so.

"I'm going to ask you again — what _are_ you?"

"I'm human."

"Like hell you are." The man started advancing on Lucinda, causing her to cower back a little. Her panic and fear levels were starting to skyrocket, which meant her powers would start lashing out again.

"Please stop," she exclaimed, doing her best to keep her tone even. When he didn't, Lucinda felt a surge of anger mix in with the fear and panic, causing her telekinesis to burst from her body right as she screamed, " _Stop_!" The man flew back, a surprised scream coming from his mouth. In that very moment, Lucinda teleported herself somewhere else.

 **O.O.O.O**

There were a lot of questions John Winchester had. The first one being where the petite redhead came from. She appeared suddenly, without warning, in the middle of the road. John barely had time to react before his car was thrown back a couple feet. The other question was what in God's name _was_ she? His headlights had exploded when the car was thrown back, but John felt he got enough of a look at her to know she was the Scarlet Phantom. She was tiny, slender, and had dark red hair. It was obvious that she was some kind of monster, considering her display of telekinesis. A _strong_ monster at that. But she wasn't at all like John had expected. In the stories of the Phantom, she was a cold-blooded killer. The Phantom _he_ encountered was a whimpering mess. Was that all a front? Was she going to do something to him when he least expected it? It didn't make sense. He tried to make her tell him what she was, but she evidently freaked out and threw him back with another blast of telekinesis. After that, she was gone.

For John, that was frustrating. He'd spent so much time traveling down to Louisiana, hoping to gather information on the Scarlet Phantom. Naturally, she'd have to be killed in the end — John was known to kill every monster he came was the kind of hunter he was. But he also had other leads to go on when it came to the demon. He felt conflicted, unable to make up his mind on what was more important.

All he could really say was he felt frustrated.

 **O.O.O.O**

Lucinda kept teleporting herself to different locations, not wanting to stay anywhere too long. She was afraid of what or _who_ she'd encounter. Would it be more of those lighted people? Or more men like the one she threw back? What in _hell_ was going on? There had to be an explanation somewhere, one Lucinda was missing. It was driving her crazy, the not knowing. By the time she made it to the outskirts of New Orleans, probably halfway across the state from where she lived, the young Nephilim chose to stop. She was in a populated area, somewhere she could blend in without much trouble. At least, that was what Lucinda _hoped_. As she walked down the streets, she took in the costumed people around her. They were all having fun, enjoying themselves with friends and family. Children were ecstatic as they went trick-or-treating. Adults who decided to dress up for the fun of it were going to bars, going to house parties and clubs — things Lucinda never got to experience growing up. Taking in a deep breath, the eighteen year old tried her best to calm herself down. Her panic levels were too high for comfort, though her anger and fear levels were steadily dropping. That had to be an improvement, right?

The only downside, however, was that Margo's training had been chipped, allowing some of the Nephilim's powers to combine with those human emotions. Her telepathy was still working on its own accord. Lucinda could hear everyone's thoughts at once, and it was giving her a splitting migraine. Combined with the overwhelming lights and noises by the people around her, and it suddenly felt as if she were descending into madness. Lucinda knew she had to go _some_ where, but she wasn't sure where. For the briefest moment, she considered going back to the Fitzpatricks, telling them on everything that happened, but then she remembered the consequences she'd have to face. Lucinda's powers were mingling with her emotions. She allowed herself to break from her training. She got herself into _trouble_. No, she couldn't go back to the Fitzpatricks. She couldn't face her punishments. She _had_ to keep going.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Sorry for the wait, but here's the newest chapter! Hopefully you guys like it. Give constructive criticism where you think it's due.**

 **I own nothing in the SPN fandom. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and the homework I need to finish. Be sure to PM me or leave a review with OC/subplot ideas you've got.**

 **As a question for you guys: When should Lucinda meet Sam and Dean? Also, when should she meet Gabriel? Be sure to review if you have an answer.**

 **On that note, see you on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	8. Chapter Eight: Last Day On Earth

_"What if it's the last day on Earth for you? For someone you love? What if that's true?"_

-Savior; **from The Walking Dead** (2016)

* * *

Lucinda took in her surroundings the best she could. She tried her hardest to memorize every face she saw and every costume being worn. It was her attempt to distract herself from her telepathy. It was still going a little haywire, and the sounds of everyone's thoughts in her head seemed to amplify. Lucinda knew she had to find somewhere quiet, somewhere far away from people, but she knew that her best chance of remaining under the radar would be in a crowded place. Those strange people wouldn't be able to find her and neither would the man she threw back. Though Lucinda knew that the man wouldn't be able to find her anyway, though she couldn't say for sure where she'd been when they encountered each other. Letting out a shaky breath, the young Nephilim hunched her shoulders in an attempt to make herself look smaller. She lowered her head just enough for some of her curly red hair to cover her face; she didn't want to look recognizable to anyone who might know her. If there were any hunters in New Orleans who were affiliated with the Fitzpatricks, then they'd _definitely_ know her. Right as she turned a corner, she nearly slammed into someone — a tall woman dressed in some kind of 80s themed costume. She had olive skin and dark eyes, her black hair pinned back. For a moment, the two made eye-contact, which made Lucinda's heart nearly drop. It looked as if the other woman recognized her.

Leaning down, the woman held her head near Lucinda's ear, and when she spoke her voice was quiet. "Are you her?" she asked. A light accent laced her words; but it was easily ignored. Goosebumps broke out on Lucinda's skin at the question.

"You've got the wrong person," she muttered, trying to walk around her. The other woman grabbed Lucinda's arm, stopping her from going any further. The grip was firm and tight, and the eighteen year old knew that if the woman tightened it even a _little_ , it would hurt like hell. "Let me go."

"Listen to me, I can help you."

With a snort, the young Nephilim tried yanking herself free, but to no avail. Lucinda knew that she had a level of strength that was unparalleled, that her _powers_ in general were unparalleled, but she knew better than to use them in public. If the two had encountered in a more private setting, then Lucinda would've done anything she could to free herself.

"I'm trying to help you, OK?" the woman hissed. "I know what you are and I know that they're after you."

Confusion washed over Lucinda, she looked up at the woman, whose gaze as intense and unwavering. What in the hell did she mean? It didn't make an ounce of sense. Why were people starting to question what Lucinda was? She wasn't a monster, she was 100% human. She may have weird powers, but that didn't mean she wasn't human. She could be an _enhanced_ person for all she knew.

"I'm human," Lucinda hissed.

"If you're human, then so am I." The remark was dark, practically growled. It almost sounded animalistic.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Lucinda knew she could take the woman on if she had to, and the woman knew, to an extent, what the Nephilim was capable of. The tension between them, though, only seemed to thicken the longer they stood glaring at each other.

"Whatever." The woman released the young girl's arm. "Get yourself killed, see if _I_ care."

"You shouldn't."

"Your father does, though."

Lucinda, at that point, was starting to walk away until the woman commented. It had been years since the mention of her parents; it was a subject that left the eighteen year old feeling a bit conflicted. Her mother died in childbirth and her father wasn't around; that should be enough for some people. For Lucinda, she wanted to not care but she knew deep down something about the information mattered to her. It had to do with her _parents_ , the very people who brought her _into_ the world. That alone made her stop. That seemed to relax the woman somewhat.

"He's been looking for you," she responded. "He's spent all this time trying to find you, Lucinda. Don't you want to see him?" When she didn't respond, the woman kept talking. "My name is Amal Hayek. I've been sent by him to retrieve you."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"My father didn't want me. He wasn't there when I was born, he wasn't there to. . . ." Lucinda turned and looked at Amal. "Whoever's telling you this, they're lying. There is no way my father would _ever_ look for me."

 **O.O.O.O**

Amal watched as Lucinda walked off. She wanted to go after her, but decided against it, thinking over the possible outcomes, and none of them seemed pleasant. Letting out a sigh, Amal crossed her arms over her chest. She'd spent _months_ trying to track Lucinda down. Amal was literally _holding_ her.

"Great," she grumbled, glaring at the retreating Nephilim. "What am I supposed to tell him?"

 **O.O.O.O**

Never in Lucinda's life had she heard someone else mention her father. Margo had on very few occasions, though as the Nephilim got older, any mention of him ceased. It's not like it mattered too much; Lucinda's father had no involvement with her mother prior to her birth. Margo spoke of the young girl's father as if he were trash. The claims were that he abandoned Lucinda and her mother, leaving his daughter to be taken in by the Fitzpatricks — that was what the teen had been told. Her father, essentially, didn't care about her and left her for the wolves.

Shaking her head, Lucinda tried pushing the thoughts from her mind. She couldn't afford to focus on something as mediocre as that. Her father wouldn't help keep her safe, her father hadn't made an appearance in eighteen years. What difference would he make in Lucinda's life? Letting out a huff, the young Nephilim trekked on, hoping to figure out a plan as quickly as possible. New Orleans was big, there were plenty of people. If she could figure out _some_ thing, before running into some other obstacle, then that would be more than enough. That would be _fantastic_. _Thinking_ , however, at least the way Lucinda was accustomed to it, required a level of silence. Sure, she'd worked quickly on her feet when there was a certain level of noise, but a whole city brimming with excited humans and ecstatic monsters was driving her crazy. Not to mention, all those other times, Lucinda had control over herself. In light of current events, she had trouble trying to keep herself _calm_.

 _Was this what Margo had planned? For me to be continuously ambushed?_ Lucinda's eyes narrowed slightly. If she were to be completely honest with herself, she did somewhat expect that of Margo. Planned surprise attacks were the kinds of things she found enjoyment in, though it was Otis who did most of the fighting. Wrapping her arms around herself, Lucinda felt her gaze go downward. She was so confused. What was the point of everything that was happening? Was Margo behind it all? Was Otis? _Isaac_? Who were the lighted men? What about the man she threw back? Who was Amal and what did she know on Lucinda? Those questions rattled in the Nephilim's brain, making her grimace a little. She didn't want to overthink anything, that was the _last_ thing she wanted to do. Overthinking led to more problems, opening less doors to answers. That was how Lucinda saw it, anyway. If she could keep what she was thinking plain and simple, then she wouldn't have so much to worry about.

Turning down a street corner, Lucinda kept her gaze low, though she did her best to study the people around her. She knew some of them were probably monsters, but that was the last thing she was thinking about. Monsters on Halloween didn't seem so important anymore. The next thing was a bunch of illuminated guys, a seemingly crazed man with a gun, and a woman who seemed to have connections to her father. Those were the creatures Lucinda was keeping her mind on. She had to put distance between herself and them; she had to keep _herself_ safe.

 _Before you know it,_ a voice whispered, _the Fitzpatricks will be on your tail, too. Did you think of that? If they find out you abandoned them, they'll go haywire. Otis and Isaac especially._

Swallowing thickly, Lucinda considered it. She knew that the family needed her for their dirty work, they needed her to do the things they couldn't be bothered to do. But if they truly needed her, then why did they let her out? Margo never gave a proper reason, and Otis seemed to have lost his patience with her. With her grimace becoming a scowl, Lucinda tried to figure out what their ulterior motives were. Margo had a kind of glint in her eyes, something that couldn't be easily described. Lucinda had never seen a look like it before, which made it come across as weird to her. Otis' lack of patience was to be expected, considering his general attitude and mindset. But that left a lot of questions unanswered. Was there a specific reason as to _why_ she'd been sent out on Halloween night? If there was, what was the motive? Of course, Lucinda knew better than to go back to the home and ask. If they saw her in her current condition, they'd blow a fuse. But if she didn't come home at _all_ , they'd blow a fuse, too. Not to mention they'd probably send Isaac on her tail. He scared Lucinda the most. Isaac's mental state seemed to be a bit more unstable than his father's, but he was even more determined. Once Isaac had a plan, or a goal, he'd stick to it until the very end. Hunts happened to be one of his favorite things to do. He liked the thrill of the chase, and if he ever came after Lucinda, she'd give him one helluva chase.

All Lucinda had to do was keep herself alive.

 **O.O.O.O**

"Did you find her?"

"I did." Amal looked at him for a moment, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. "She wasn't very cooperative."

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. "This'll be more difficult than I though," he muttered.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "What'd she look like, at least? Could you tell me that?"

Giving a small, sympathetic smile, Amal nodded. "She's got red hair," she stated, "kinda small. I'm telling you, for someone as young as her, she looks pretty bad."

"Bad how?" He glanced at her, looking a bit anxious himself.

"She looked worn down," Amal said, "I'd say she's probably been exposed to a _lot_."

"And?"

"I don't know how else to explain it except like that." The young woman shrugged, looking almost nonchalant. "She's young, but she's seen her fair share. Who knows what she's really been through?"

"Tell me how she got away again?"

"She's strong, like you predicted. I didn't take her seriously." It was a little white lie, and Amal was certain he probably saw through it, but it didn't matter. "I'll keep looking for her, OK? You don't have to worry."

With a scoff, he shook his head. "The thing is, I _do_ have to worry," he said sharply. "She's exposed now. Angels are gonna be raining down to kill her, not to mention any monster or _hunter_ she's probably wronged."

"Survival wise, she'll be fine," Amal said, waving a hand in a dismissive fashion. "Somehow, she's survived eighteen years without detection. I feel like she'll handle everything perfectly."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Give her some credit, Gabe, she's stronger than you give her credit for."

With a sad smile, he nodded. "I know," he sighed. "What else happened?"

Amal thought over the question before answering. She _could_ tell the Archangel how Lucinda didn't seem to know who or _what_ she was, or that she believed her own father had abandoned her. Obviously, Gabriel would be heartbroken to hear about the latter, maybe a bit confused or uncertain about the former. Either way, Amal chose not to mention it. If she ever caught up to Lucinda again — and she really hoped she did — then she'd have a _lot_ to explain. Amal could _already_ imagine just how badly Lucinda's reaction would be.

"Not much else," she responded. "She was startled, for sure, but she mostly put up a fight."

"I'm sure you'll find her again. You're a werewolf, right? I'm hoping you remember her scent."

With a chuckle, Amal nodded. "Trust me, I wouldn't forget a scent like _hers_ ," she said.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **If you've got constructive criticism, don't hesitate to let me know, OK? I'd love to hear what you guys think. Hearing suggestions on how to improve the story will help me as a writer, and that'll make this story better! So don't hesitate on that, OK?**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and the bamboo plants in my room. If you've got ideas for subplots or OCs, PM me or leave a review. I'll add them in as soon as possible.**

 **I'm sure I asked these questions in the last author's note, but I'll try one more time. When do you guys think Lucinda should meet Sam and Dean? She's sort of met John already, and I'm working out more interactions with them in future updates. If you've got ideas, drop a review. Also, when should Lucinda officially meet Gabriel? She's under the assumption her father, in a way, abandoned her mother. Like the Winchester question, leave a review on any ideas you have. I'd greatly appreciate it.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	9. Chapter Nine: Remember This

_"Remember this: you may lose your faith in us, but never in yourselves."_

-Optimus Prime; **from Transformers: Dark of the Moon** (2011)

* * *

Lucinda spent a good chunk of the night wandering the streets of New Orleans. She watched with slight disinterest as the trick-or-treaters thinned out and the nighttime occupants arrived. For the eighteen year old, she'd encountered plenty of creeps during her night hunts, and she had no problem holding her own against them. In fact, she rather enjoyed going at them. For Lucinda, it made the hunt that much more thrilling. So, as the Halloween party-goers and trick-or-treaters all but vanished, the young Nephilim started to brace herself for what she would encounter. Drug dealers or violent addicts, weirdos of all shapes and sizes. Lucinda had to make sure she was ready for whatever happened; she could only hope she stayed stable enough to fight if need be.

Setting her jaw, the young Nephilim watched carefully as the scenery and feel of the streets changed. She did her best to keep herself as invisible as possible, but she knew they'd see her. Someone like Lucinda wasn't hard to miss to the underground. Turning into an alleyway, the eighteen year old tried to take a shortcut to another road, hoping she could make an exit from New Orleans. She'd spent her fair share observing the city, not only that, but having strange encounters with weird women.

The alleyway itself, however, was, for the most part, dark. There were some dumpsters lined up against buildings, and garbage that littered the ground. Something Lucinda expected. Alleyways, the ones she traveled down at least, were always dark, filthy, and filled with just as many creeps and weirdos. When she was about halfway down, she heard the sound of footsteps. She figured it was probably a drug deal or a guy looking for some extra services. It wasn't unnatural. The only problem was the footsteps were continuing behind her. They were steady, but Lucinda could tell that her followers were probably resisting the urge to go faster. Taking a deep breath, she let it out and turned to look behind her. Of course, what she saw were two people shrouded in a bright light. Their features weren't completely visible, which didn't make sense considering the light that surrounded them. Lucinda would've thought that would make identifying them easier. When they noticed she turned, they stopped as well, regarding her in a way that made her uncomfortable. With the Fitzpatricks, she was accustomed to how they looked at her, but because she couldn't see those faces, that didn't settle well with her.

"Abomination, your time on this planet has come to an end." One of them was a male, older than her, obviously, considering the sound of his voice. The only problem was he sounded almost monotone, his words coming out in an almost robotic fashion.

"I've had it about up to _here_ with people today," Lucinda snapped, holding a hand up for show. "I don't know who any of you are, so just leave me alone." Before she even had a chance to move, the Nephilim's body was frozen in place, as if some invisible force had covered her body. Her muscles were stiff and her joints felt as if they'd been forced in place.

"Lucinda Worthington, your existence is an abomination," the man announced. "Your sole purpose is to cause destruction. Heaven and Earth — angels and humans — have reason to fear you. Because of this you must be killed. The sooner you're out of the way, Lucinda, the better off everyone will be."

"It will be quick, hopefully." A woman was speaking, her voice young but equally as monotone. "Just. . . .try not to take it so personally."

A flash of something caught Lucinda's attention. From what she could tell, from what she could _see_ , it looked like one of them was holding a dagger of some sort. She tried breaking herself free from the hold, but the more she struggled, the stronger it seemed to become. The lighted people started approaching her, their posture showing determination and a bit of arrogance. Never in Lucinda's life had she encountered individuals like them; their powers came off almost similar to hers, but it was hard to say for sure.

 _You are not getting killed by a bunch of freaks,_ she thought. _You've been in tight situations before, what makes you think you can't get out of this one?_

Focusing, Lucinda did everything in her power to break from her captures' hold. Releasing her own bout of telekinetic energy, she saw her assailants fly back, falling on the ground with a crack. Storming over to their bodies, the young Nephilim snapped her fingers, forcing her attackers up. Luckily, they were both conscious, but just barely.

"I don't know what the hell you both are," Lucinda hissed, "and I have no idea what I did to you, but you will leave me alone, do you understand?"

"You will be killed, half-breed," the man said, his voice strained against Lucinda's hold. "You have no real purpose on this planet."

In that moment, anger surged through the eighteen year old's body. Her heart rate picked up and her breathing became erratic. Her assailants began to struggle some, obviously unnerved by her change in attitude. Before Lucinda even had a chance to react, the mouths of her attackers flew open and two bright beams of smokey light shot out. It caused the teen to quickly cover her eyes and drop to her knees, a surprised shriek emitting from her mouth. When the lights were gone, and the sound of the bodies hitting the floor echoed in the alleyway, Lucinda took a moment before hesitantly looking around. Everything was back to its original dreariness — a poorly lit, practically dark, alleyway cluttered with garbage and dumpsters. When her eyes went to the bodies, laying in a heap on the ground, the young girl took a shaky breath before letting it out. They were alive, she could tell that much, but they were also in pain. Swallowing thickly, Lucinda slowly stood up and walked over to do a quick investigation. The woman was young, probably a couple years older than Lucinda. She had short black hair and pale skin. The man was older, maybe in his forties with graying blonde hair and a wrinkling face. And barely a foot from the bodies was probably the cleanest, _weirdest_ looking dagger the teen had ever seen. From the looks of it, the whole thing seemed to be made out of silver, or at least something looking like silver. Lucinda's brows furrowed at that. In all her years with the Fitzpatricks, she'd never encountered a weapon like that before. They never mentioned anything like it, either. A pained moan coming from the woman caused Lucinda to stiffen slightly. Turning to look at her and the man, she could see them stirring where they lay.

"Shit," Lucinda hissed. Quickly grabbing the dagger, she teleported herself away.*

 **O.O.O.O**

Gabriel had a lot of time to think after Macey's death. Eighteen _long_ years of it. He thought about whether or not his child survived. He thought, and prayed, about whether Macey's death was painless. It was only common knowledge that the mortal mother die birthing the Nephilim, but it didn't make the situation any easier. Knowing that his ex-lover was dead filled Gabriel with an intense feeling of guilt, one he tried desperately to drown, using sweets and sex and tricks as a means of a distraction. While Macey, after finding out about the pregnancy, did what she believed was right, in the end, it would cause pain for both the Archangel and their daughter. With that pain came more feelings of immense guilt, and Gabriel doing whatever was possible to drown out the thoughts and feelings. It didn't work, though. As the years went on, the Archangel did his best to ignore what he'd gone through with Macey, to ignore the fact that he was a _father_. Things were already so difficult, with Heaven acting the way it was and the impending doom Lucifer and Michael would bring, Gabriel didn't want to face any of that. In his mind, if he could stay as neutral and as invisible as possible, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything. And if he could keep his mind busy on other things, not focusing on his daughter or the hurt her absence caused him, then he wouldn't be worrying so much about her.

It wasn't until about fifteen years later that Gabriel started to worry. He'd heart reports about a small, redheaded girl going around killing monsters and hunters, how she was so ferocious and cold-blooded. The Archangel didn't know what to think of it. He'd hear about how quickly she'd appear and disappear, how her eyes sometimes glowed a whitish-blue. In Gabriel's eyes, he knew what that meant, and all those emotions started to flood back in at full force. She was a hunter, a _neandrethal_. But, at the same time, she was Gabriel's child, his _daughter_ , and that filled the Archangel with an overwhelming sense of relief and amazement. That was when he chose to find her. If he could find a way to bring her to him, then he'd be able to give her a better life. She wouldn't have to worry about monsters or hunters, she wouldn't have to worry about angels, Heaven, or _any_ thing. As long as the two were together, then things would be just fine. But he also knew the risks that came with trying to find her. Gabriel was an Archangel, one of his father's earliest creations. If he were to be discovered on Earth, he'd be in big trouble. If he were to be discovered looking for his _child_ , well. . . .things wouldn't end so nicely. That was when Gabriel got the idea of having others retrieve his daughter for him. He'd remain under the radar, doing what he wanted, while at the same time being given the opportunity to make up for lost time. Sadly, not all the individuals he'd encountered were good enough for such a task. Gabriel tried using a vampire, she turned out to be a little on the crazy side, which meant she had to be dealt with. He considered using a witch, but didn't trust them enough to do something like that. He _definitely_ knew better than to ask any humans, since it was his daughter's life at risk, after all.

In the end, Gabriel got Amal, a werewolf, and another woman named Jaime, a psychic, to help him out. Amal's keen sense of smell, among other useful characteristics, made her a useful ally in the search. Jaime's abilities, on occasion, helped ease Gabriel's concerns. She helped out a lot when it came to predicting future events, though when it came to other predictions, she was tight-lipped. While Amal was more of a field person, traveling and doing everything in person, the Archangel's little psychic wasn't entirely fond of interacting with others. She'd go out when absolutely necessary, but even _then_ it was rare. Gabriel had to convince Jaime on more than one occasion to go out and do a little searching of her own, in an attempt to alleviate some of the _pressure_ Amal could be experiencing. A lot of it was guilt tripping, which was a bit of a dirty move, but it worked. Both of Gabriel's helpers were out and doing their part, while _he_ stayed behind and did what he did best. The thoughts of his daughter, however, never did leave his mind. He'd worry about her wellbeing, whether or not she would be safe against his brothers and sisters — it was a lot, and it caused such a whirlwind of emotions. The only thing that really seemed to matter was being with her. It took _years_ for Gabriel to realize he wanted to be with his daughter, to be the father he knew she needed. To be the father he _failed_ to be in the beginning. For the Archangel, that reunion could be his way of making things right. Aside from his family's disapproval, and probably countless hunters and monsters wanting her head, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Remember, constructive criticism is always welcome! If you see anything in this chapter that you think could use improvement, PM me or leave a review. I won't be able to get better if I don't know what's bothering you guys. Other than that, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and a love for my dog. If you've got OCs or subplots you'd like added into the story, PM me or leave a review. I'll add them in as soon as possible.**

 **As a side note, who's excited for INFINITY WAR's release? It's not that far out, being at the end of the month. For me, with all the new trailers that MARVEL's been releasing, I know I'm getting super pumped about it. The one thing I am curious about is how the movie will get away with so many characters in a 2+ hour time. From what I've heard, though, is that the movie itself will focus more on Thanos than the actual Avengers and co. I don't know. I'm just a huge fan of the MARVEL movies, so. . . .**

 **Anywho, for you guys who're like me and super excited over INFINITY WAR, you can leave a review on it if you want. Maybe on something you're looking forward to seeing, who you think is going to die before AVENGERS 4 comes out, maybe even on how you think Thanos will be defeated. One thing I've heard is that people are speculating Captain Marvel may make a guest appearance or something in IW.**

 **I digress.**

 **With that, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	10. Chapter Ten: Be Careful

_I want you to live your life of course_

 _But I hope you get what you dyin' for_  
 _Be careful with me, do you know what you doin'?_  
 _Whose feelings that you're hurtin' and bruisin'?_

-Be Careful; **by Cardi B**

* * *

For the remainder of the night, Lucinda teleported herself around Louisiana. She wanted to ensure she had as much distance between herself, and all the madness she'd endured in that one night. In all of her eighteen years, _never_ had the teen witnessed so much craziness in a span of a few hours. Between the glowing men and the Fitzpatricks' seemingly eagerness to let her go, to the weird woman who claimed to know her father, the weird noise she heard, and the man she met in the road — Lucinda couldn't make heads or tails on _any_ of it. Her emotions were still frazzled, her brain was having problems processing everything, and it seemed as if was starting to cave in on her. How was she supposed to handle all of that? Her training with the Fitzpatricks _never_ prepared her for an onslaught of craziness, none of it. Sure, it prepped her for some dangers that came with hunting, but never how to handle so many curve balls thrown at once. So, as a result, Lucinda chose to teleport herself around Louisiana, staying in a town or city _just_ long enough to take what she needed before leaving. She'd hit the small towns first, stealing money from the unsuspecting and taking clothes when she could. Once she was done, she was gone. That was how her night went. Once she had what she needed, she chose to lay low in an abandoned warehouse in Shreveport. The one convenient thing was that Shreveport was relatively close to the edge of Louisiana, bordering just near Texas. For Lucinda, that was a plus, but also a bit unsettling. She never traveled outside of Louisiana before, so knowing she was _so_ _close_ to a sort of freedom made her blood run cold. She didn't know what to expect, and that terrified her.

Sighing, the Nephilim rested her head against the cold wall of the warehouse. She'd been in there for only a few hours, hoping she'd regain enough strength to continue her travels once light came out. While Lucinda rarely ever slept, something she couldn't quite understand, that didn't mean she was immune to exhaustion. On more than one occasion, the teen had nearly collapsed from exhaustion. She'd believed that her ability to sleep less than an average human made her stronger and better, but she came to see her limitations in no time. That was one thing the teen found useful in her training and experience, she learned, very quickly her limitations in what she could and couldn't do. But the mental and emotional training — that was becoming something else entirely. Maybe Lucinda wasn't as well-trained in those areas as she once thought. It hurt to think that way, but that had to be the truth. Why else would she crack so easily under that kind of pressure? As badly as the Nephilim wanted to believe she was experienced, she wasn't good enough, apparently. Choosing to close her eyes for just a moment, Lucinda tried to clear her mind and keep herself as calm as possible. Her powers couldn't go haywire, not in that moment. She finally had a moment of peace, and she wanted to enjoy it. That wasn't asking too much. Then again, Lucinda knew better than to hope for improvement. She had to understand that things were unpredictable, and she couldn't keep herself alive on _hope_ alone.

"Just stay calm," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Don't let your emotions take control. That's when things start to get really bad." Letting out the breath, Lucinda opened her eyes and looked at the warehouse ceiling in disinterest. Aside from resting, she had no idea what else she was supposed to do. She brought with her minimal food considering she rarely ever ate to begin with. That seemed to be another thing about the teen that just didn't make sense. Naturally, Lucinda could eat, and she did find it a tad enjoyable, but she wasn't as hungry as most other people. There were so many things about Lucinda's life that didn't make sense, and in the deep recesses of her mind, she was starting to chastise herself for not listening to Amal. If she'd paid attention to her, then maybe those questions the teen had could've been answered. But the uncertainty that came with a stranger claiming things like that were high. Lucinda never mentioned her father outside of the Fitzpatrick home. In fact, she hadn't talked about him in _years_. She simply assumed he wasn't important enough to talk about, to _think_ about. But how could a stranger like _Amal_ know _anything_ on Lucinda's father? Were there things Margo and Otis kept secret from her? Letting out a frustrated growl, she slammed a hand on the concrete ground, feeling frustrated and overwhelmed. She'd have to figure something out quick. She couldn't keep thinking and behaving the way she was, it was getting her nowhere.

 **O.O.O.O**

"You've lost her." The statement was simple, but there was a coldness behind it that would send anyone in the vicinity trembling in fear. Another mission to hunt the Nephilim resulted in a failure. It was becoming a common occurrence, one that was becoming increasingly frustrating. How could _one_ Nephilim avoid capture for so long? Certainly, there were a small handful who managed to make it to adulthood, but they were always found and killed. Heaven found itself even luckier if the half-breed was killed before its birth. Considering the human mother would die anyway, what difference would her death make?* But that _one_ Nephilim, that _one_ little pain in the ass, seemed to know how to avoid capture. First, she remained undetected for eighteen years, minus the sporadic appearances every now and again, but she suddenly pops up and remains in the public eye? And not a single angel could _get_ her? How was that even possible.

"I-It would, uh, seem so, sir."

"Tell me, how is it so difficult to find and _kill_ one Nephilim?"

"She was unpredictable."

"I'm sorry?"

"Her powers. They're unpredictable."

"She's strong, which could mean that either a Seraphim or an Archangel sired her."

"Are you suggesting. . . .?" There was a brief pause. "My brother has been away from Heaven for quite some time. I wouldn't put it past him to behave in such a manner. But he is not _stupid_ enough to sire a half-breed."

"W-We didn't mean to _imply_ , sir. . . ."

"We were merely suggesting one or the other."

"Gabriel's abandonment; he learned that from Father. When things got too much, he'd run away. He's lived on Earth for thousands of years, I'm sure he's seen enough of humanity to sympathize them."*

There was a moment of silence. The two angels standing before Michael were unsure on how to proceed. The Archangel looked deep in thought, and it was almost impossible to tell _what_ he was thinking about. The statement on Gabriel had a hint of something that couldn't quite be identified, but it was unsettling nonetheless.

"You can go now," was Michael's only response after a minute had gone by.

"And the Nephilim?"

"I trust she'll be found in due time."

 **O.O.O.O**

There were a lot of things Gabriel wished he'd done differently. He wished he fought for Macey to stay the day she left; he wished he told her the truth about himself; he wished he'd been the one to raise his child — he wished, he wished, he _wished_. Of course, there was nothing for the Archangel to do except look for his missing child. In Gabriel's eyes, he was fifteen years too late to try and be a father, but that wouldn't stop him from at least _trying_. He wanted some kind of relationship with her, he wanted to show that he felt guilt and remorse for each day he wasn't in her life. How she would react would be a bit unpredictable. She could be ecstatic at the thought of meeting her father, or she would be furious. Gabriel counted on the latter happening. After all, he'd spent the first fifteen years after her birth trying to forget her. Women and sex and candy — _anything_ that would come off as a distraction. It was pitiful. Gabriel had, in a way, turned out to be just like his own father; abandoning his family, refusing to return for any reason. He thought it was pathetic, even if he believed it to be for his own good.

Letting out a sigh, the Archangel rubbed his face before leaning back in his seat. The one thing he was happy for was Amal's dedication in finding his daughter. Gabriel knew he had to be careful with how he exposed himself in the public eye, but he also knew he wanted nothing more than to find his child. His conflicting emotions were making things harder than they needed to be. _Way_ harder.

 **O.O.O.O**

Lucinda hardly slept a wink that night. It was almost as if she were incapable of doing so. It definitely put a strain on everything, but she knew that she'd have to leave soon. The sun was starting to shine through some of the openings in the warehouse, and the Nephilim knew that if she stayed any longer, she'd be in big trouble. The glowing attackers could show up again, and who knows what else. Maybe Amal, or the guy she met on the road. Not only that, but that strange headache-inducing noise. Slowly standing up, the teen slung her backpack — one she'd stolen among countless other things — on and teleported herself out of the warehouse. Without so much as a second thought, once she appeared on the side of a road, Lucinda started walking. The morning was cool, and the sun was already partially in the sky. Hardly any cars were driving by, which was amazing. Lucinda was able to use the quiet she had to try and relax. She couldn't afford to have herself overthink, it would cause her more harm than good. But there was just one thing she needed to figure out. Shrugging off her bag, she unzipped it and took out the blade. She didn't have much time to study it before, but considering she was alone at the moment, she thought she could give it chance. The one thing Lucinda couldn't understand was the material it was made of. It looked to be made completely out of silver, but it was so sleek, so. . . . _clean_.

Gently moving her fingers down the blade, Lucinda used her index finger to poke the tip of the blade, wincing slightly at the sting. Looking at her finger, she saw a drop of blood come on the tip of her finger.

"Sharper than I thought," Lucinda murmured.* Letting out a huff, she shoved the blade back into her backpack. Once zipped and slung back on her shoulder, the teen kept walking. If she could keep going, get somewhere safe until everything calmed down, then at least she'd be good for a little while.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **First off, I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter. School and work have been kicking my ass, so I had to put this off until I had everything pretty much done and figured out. But, hopefully, you guys can forgive me on that. I'll try and not put this off for so long. Other than that, I hope you guys can leave any thoughts you have on the story so far. It's 10 chapters in and I still don't know how you guys feel on it or what your thoughts are. I've gotten a few reviews, and I appreciate it, but some constructive criticism is always welcome.**

 **The SPN fandom does not belong to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and a growing excitement for INFINITY WAR. If you've got ideas for an OC or a subplot, PM me or leave a review. I'll add them in as soon as possible.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.**

 **Rudie Fenton**


	11. Chapter Eleven: Padalecki

_"Don't underestimate your own strength. To persevere. To make it through to most difficult times. And, just as importantly, don't underestimate your ability to help someone else during their most difficult times. Sometimes all it takes is a kind word, or gesture, to help someone make it through their day."_

-Jared Padalecki

* * *

Lucinda learned quickly just how much she disliked walking. Her legs were sore and she felt like she'd fall over at any given moment. While she understood the importance of distance, she also had to keep in mind just how far was far _enough_? Lucinda had never been in that kind of situation before — never had to run for her life in such a dramatic fashion. She couldn't say for sure where those lighted men came from, or what purpose the man in the road would have in the future. All Lucinda knew was that she felt as if she were in danger, and she wanted to get as far away as possible. Texas _seemed_ like the best call; it sure as hell wasn't _Louisiana_. If living under the radar, in other states — hell, in other _countries_ if necessary — could help the Nephilim clear her head and keep her out of danger, then she'd do it. Of course, she worried for the Fitzpatricks. She had to wonder what would happen if they found out about her disappearance. Lucinda was aware of the consequences she'd face if she ever returned to the property, and part of her wasn't willing to take the risk. Lucinda lived her entire life under their control, following their orders and taking their harsh punishments. She didn't _want_ that anymore. That was something she was starting to realize. The Fitzpatricks were toxic, they exploited her and Lucinda accepted it because she felt she _owed_ them. The family, who took her in, tortured her, used her own powers for their own gain. How messed up was that? Naturally, though, however unfortunate, Lucinda still felt a sense of loyalty to them. The Fitzpatricks gave her a home, provided her with clothes and food and protection. At least, partial protection. She was still expected to do a lot of their dirty work.

Sighing, the Nephilim ran a hand through her hair. Part of her saw the Fitzpatricks as her family. They were all she knew and she didn't want to change that, but part of her was _done_ playing their sick games. Lucinda was eighteen and never knew life outside of hunting, never knew life outside of all the toxicity the Fitzpatricks built for her. She thought it was normal to be desensitized, to murder in cold blood. She thought it was normal to have abilities and to face such extreme torture it left her feeling nothing but pain and numbness for weeks afterward. Lucinda believed everything she'd endured growing up was _natural_. It wasn't. But part of her couldn't reason as to _why_. _Why_ did she think it was unnatural to experience desensitization? _Why_ wasn't it normal to be beaten into submission? To fight monsters and ghouls on a near _daily_ basis? Lucinda couldn't come up with a reasonable answer. It just didn't feel as right as it once had.

Shaking her head, Lucinda forced the thoughts out of her head. She couldn't focus on them at the moment. The only thing important was getting away from her attackers. She needed to find the nearest town and lay low for a little while. If she could do that, then she'd be safe for a little while. Would there be any abandoned buildings in the next town she found? Lucinda sure as hell hoped so. She didn't think she'd have it in her to find someone to bunk with for a little while. But there were also motels. Those weren't uncommon in the hunting community. Since killing monsters was in no way a 9-5 job, that meant it didn't necessarily _pay_. Credit card fraud and money scams were the next best thing to payments. In most situations, any kind of money scheme Lucinda performed would be directly given to the Fitzpatricks, particularly Otis. He believed he deserved a majority of the _payments_ , since he was the one who allowed the teen to live under his roof. For Lucinda, she never really questioned it. That was something else considered _normal_ in the household.

Biting her bottom lip, Lucinda started to desperately look for distractions. But how was she supposed to do that? She was walking on a practically deserted dirt road, and she didn't have anything to look at besides the bland scenery. Scowling slightly, Lucinda hunched her shoulders as she continued trekking forward. All she had to do was make it to the next town. Was that task _really_ so hard to do?

 **O.O.O.O**

"Do you understand what you must do?"

"Yes."

With a hum, Michael circled the angel in front of him. After he'd been informed of the situation on Earth, he took some time to think it over. Nephilim were always so troublesome, popping up every once in a while, but it was usually easy to take them down. Those impregnated human women typically weren't informed of their angelic offspring, so it was easier and less problematic to kill them off. If the Nephilim managed to be born, it was still easy to eliminate them. Michael found the idea of obliterating Nephilim to be productive, a way of keeping the natural balance in order. In the Archangel's eyes, that was important, keeping the natural order. Even the _slightest_ act of misconduct could throw everything out of whack. Sadly, there were always beings who didn't see what Michael saw. There were those who believed they could do what they wanted without any repercussions. It was the Archangel's job to eliminate those few as well. Unfortunately, some of them did happen to be angels. Ones who chose to rebel against Heaven's protocol. In most cases, they'd be cast out of Heaven, but if they weren't cooperative, the best solution would be to kill them. That's how Michael chose to handle things. It gave everyone an idea of what would happen if they stepped out of line.

"Tell me, how do you plan on taking down the Nephilim?" Michael asked, stopping in front of the angel. "My other soldiers couldn't perform the task effectively. What makes you think I can trust you?"*

"I've assisted in taking down a Nephilim before. The mission was a success."

"Was it?" Michael cocked his head a little to the side. "Which flight were you in?"

"Ishim's."

"Yes, of course. You took care of that Sunder problem." With a firm nod, the Archangel started to walk around, his hands clasped behind his back. "The other angels I've sent to take care of the Nephilim have been unsuccessful. They say she's _too_ _powerful_. Castiel, I'm entrusting this mission to you." Turning to look at the angel head-on, Michael's expression became grim.* "I'm growing tired of this Nephilim wandering free. It's going against the natural order. It's against Heaven's rules."

"Of course," Castiel responded.

"So you'll take the abomination down?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Michael walked over to his desk and picked up an Angel Blade. "Make it quick. Don't fail me, Castiel."

 **O.O.O.O**

"What do you think happened to her?" Margo glanced at her father anxiously. "She should've been back by now."

Otis was pacing around the living room, his hands clenching and flexing. The duo believed if they sent Lucinda out on Halloween night, she'd probably attract some much needed attention — or, in their case, _celestial_ attention. When the Nephilim failed to return, that made father and daughter unsettled. Lucinda had been trained to _always_ come back to them. Why — or _how_ — did she manage to escape them? Had she been injured? Or was she dead? Margo had no idea where Lucinda could've gone; she assumed the teen would be wandering around town. Otis, on the other hand, didn't really worry about the teen too much, only if it involved angels did he show an _ounce_ of concern.*

"I told you she needed more training," Otis growled. "She's too inexperienced. She's not _good_ enough!"

"We _trained_ her ourselves!" Margo screamed. "She's _more_ than capable!"

"She's a _Nephilim_!" Otis roared. "She's unpredictable! We don't know what she's thinking of! She could've been planning an escape this whole time."

"We'll find her, OK?" Margo stammered. "She couldn't have gotten far. I'll call Isaac and we can work out a search."

"Not Isaac. Call Isla."

" _No_." The answer was immediate, sharp. Margo glared at her father with an intensity. Isla left the family for a reason. The middle child of the Fitzpatrick family didn't see herself as a hunter. She wanted _nothing_ to do with the hunting community. Margo would respect her sister for the choice she made. If Isla didn't want any involvement, then so be it. "We are _not_ getting Isla in this mess," Margo hissed. "She's not a hunter, dad. She was raised a _civilian_. She'll call the authorities if she found out we have an _eighteen_ _year_ _old_ trapped here."

Letting out a scoff, Otis shook his head. "Fine, call Isaac," he grumbled. "See if that asshole ever gets back to you."

"Fine."

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 **(A/N):**

 **A long, unnecessary wait for a poorly written chapter. I'm so sorry about that, guys. I planned on finishing this chapter sooner, but I got so overwhelmed with school and work that this got pushed back. Hopefully you guys understand that! If you've got constructive criticism, don't hesitate to let me know, OK? I can't improve this story if I don't know what's wrong with it. I'm sure I could find a few things that're not right with the story, but that's from the writer's point-of-view. I want to know how you guys, the readers, see it. So, yeah. Leave constructive criticism.**

 **Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and emotional distress from Infinity War.**

 **Since I'm uploading this chapter so late, that means Infinity War has already been released in theaters. The movie's been out for what? A week? A week and a half? Two weeks? I don't know. All I know is that I've seen the movie twice, and each time hit me with massive feels. For any of you who've seen Infinity War and need to rant about it in any way, I'm all for talking about it. You could PM me or leave a review. Just make sure to be considerate for anyone who hasn't seen it.**

 **Also, since we're on the topic of movies, does anyone else know that there's going to be a movie/biopic on Freddie Mercury? It's called Bohemian Rhapsody. The first teaser trailer's been released and I'm a little excited about it. Queen is one of my favorite bands so I'm hoping this biopic is good. All I know is that Rami Malek is playing Freddie Mercury and it looks like he's doing a good job. For anyone who knows about the Bohemian Rhapsody movie, and is somewhat excited about it like I am, PM me or review what your thoughts are.**

 **On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side!**

 **Rudie Fenton**


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